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AUTHORS  DIGEST 


THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  STORIES  IN  BRIEF,  PREPARED 

BY  A  STAFF  OF  LITERARY  EXPERTS,  WITH 

THE  ASSISTANCE  OF  MANY 

LIVING  NOVELISTS 


ROSSITER  JOHNSON,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF 


ISSUED    UKDER    THE    AUSPICES    OF   THE 


AUTHORS  PRESS 


fA/ 


This  is  Volume  II  of  a  complete  set  of  the 
AUTHORS    DIGEST 

Consisting  of  Twenty  Volumes^  Issued  Strictly  as  a 
Limited  Edition.  In  Volume  I  will  be  found  the  Offi- 
cial Certificate^  -under  the  Seal  of  the  Authors  Press,  as 
to  the  Limitation  of  the  Edition^  the  Registered  Number 
of  this  Set^  and  the  Name  of  the  Owner. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

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AUTHORS    DIGEST 


VOLUIVTE  n 


JANE  GOC^DVVINl  AUSTIN 
TO 

Babbie  promise&\tp  Js|H^lc|gIg^1^;  from   the  poorhouse 
{The  Little  Minister,    p.  329) 

Hand- painted    photogravure    on    French    Plate    Paper,    after    an   original    painting 
made  for  thii_gjiitiq,ti  by,  prgnk  X.    Leyendecl^er 


Issued  under  the  auspices  of  the 
AUTHORS     P  '^    •  ^-  ^ 


M'ff 


"^4 


.,M-o>,dV\ 


AUTHORS    DIGEST 


VOLUME   II 


JANE  GOODWIN  AUSTIN 

TO 

APHRA  BEHN 


Issued  under  the  auspices  of  the 
AUTHORS     PRESS 


COPYRIGHT,    1908, 

By   the  authors  PRESS 


rn 

HA 


CONTENTS 


Jane  Goodwin  Austin 


PAGE 


A  Nameless  Nobleman i 

Massimo  d'Azelio 

Ettore  Fieramosca 12 

Irving  Bacheller 

Eben  Holden 24 

WOLCOTT   BALESTIER 

Benefits  Forgot 35 

HoNORE  DE  Balzac 

The  Chouans 47 

The  Magic  Skin 58 

A  Woman  of  Thirty 66 

Louis  Lambert 77 

The  Country  Doctor 88 

Eug^iie  Grandet 95 

Pere  Goriot 106 

Seraphita 117 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley 129 

Lost  Illusions 140 

Cesar  Birotteau 151 

Beatrix 162 

A  Distinguished  Provincial  at  Paris 173 

ix 


X  CONTENTS 

HoNORE  DE  Balzac   {Continued) 

PAGE 

Ursule  Mirouet 184 

Catherine  de'  Medici 193 

A  Bachelor's  Establishment 212 

A  Start  in  Life 223 

Modeste  Mignon 233 

Cousin  Bette 244 

Cousin  Pons 255 

The  Member  for  Arcis 266 

The  Middle  Classes 277 

John  Banim 

Boyne  Water 287 

Amelia  Edith  Barr 

A  Bow  of  Orange  Ribbon     .     , 308 

James  Matthew  Barrie 

A  Window  in  Thrums 320 

The  Little  Minister 326 

Anton  Giulio  Barrili 

The  Eleventh  Commandment 334 

Arlo  Bates 

A  Wheel  of  Fire 348 

Ren£  Bazin 

The  Ink-Stain        358 

Frances  Courtenay  Baylor 

On  Both  Sides =     .     .     .  370 


CONTENTS  xi 

William  Beckford 


PAGE 


Vathek:  an  Arabian  Tale 382 

CUTHBERT    BeDE 

The  Adventures  of  Mr.  Verdant  Green       ....  394 

Henry  Ward  Beecher 

Norwood 406 

Aphra  Behn 

Oroonoko:  or,  The  Royal  Slave       .......  418 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The   Egyptian   promises   to  save  old    Nanny  from  the 

poorhouse.     {The  Little  Minister,  p.  329)       .       Frontispiece 
From  a  painting  by  Frank  X.  Leyendecker. 

PAGE 

Portrait  of  Honord  de  Balzac 47 

From  a  celebrated  painting  by  L.  Boulanger. 

"Ah,  my  angels!"  were  the  last  words  the  old  man  mur- 
mured,    {Phe  Goriot) 116 

From  an  etching  by  E.  Abot,  after  the  drawing 
by  Albert  Lynch. 


JANE  GOODWIN  AUSTIN 

(United  States,  1 831-1894) 
A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN  (1881) 

This  story  of  the  days  of  the  "grand  monarch"  has  long  been  a  favorite 
and  was  successfully  dramatized. 

T  a  brilliant  function  in  the  grand  gallery  of  the 
palace  at  Versailles  in  the  second  half  of  his  reign, 
Louis  XIV  saw  his  mistress,  Madame  de  Monte- 
span,  flirting  audaciously  with  the  Vicomte  de 
Montarnaud,  a  young  gallant  from  Provence. 
Addressing  the  young  gallant's  father,  a  courtier 
of  seventy,  the  King  said:  ''Monsieur  de  Mont- 
arnaud, you  asked  permission,  some  time  ago,  to 
marry  your  eldest  son  to  Mademoiselle  de  Rochen- 
bois,  your  ward.  I  withdraw  my  opposition,  and  permit  the 
marriage.  It  may  take  place  in  the  royal  chapel,  and  we  shall 
see  whether  some  place  about  the  court  can  be  found  for  the 
bride,  who  will  remain  here  while  the  Vicomte  returns  to  duty." 
Further  talk  elicited  from  the  Comte  the  fact  that  his  younger 
son,  Franfois,  was  at  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud  in  Provence, 
with  the  Comte's  ward,  Valerie  de  Rochenbois,  whereupon 
Louis  observed : 

"Really,  Monsieur  de  Montarnaud,  you  are  a  man  of  re- 
source. Since  it  was  not  permitted  to  marry  your  eldest  son 
to  your  wealthy  ward,  you  shut  her  up  in  a  country  house  with 
the  younger  one,  trusting  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  for  a  mar- 
riage, public  or  private,  before  there  should  be  time  to  prevent 
it.  I  shall,  however,  expect  to  receive  Madame  la  Vicomtesse 
de  Montarnaud,  nee  Rochenbois,  within  the  month." 

Approaching  Madame  de  Montespan,  the  King  then  re- 
marked that,  judging  by  the  expression  on  the  Vicomte's 
face,  she  was  probably  congratulating  him  upon  his  approach- 

A.D.,  VOL.  II.— I  I 


2  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

ing  marriage.  Enjoying  the  confusion  of  the  two,  the  King 
again  announced  his  intentions  as  to  the  marriage  and  ordered 
the  young  man  to  go  to  Montarnaud  for  his  father's  ward  the 
next  day.  Not  long  after  this  event,  the  Comte  with  his  eldest 
son,  Gaston,  arrived  at  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud  a  few 
moments  only  after  Francois,  a  lad  of  twenty,  had  confessed  to 
his  father's  ward  his  love  for  her.  While  Gaston  was  acquaint- 
ing his  brother  with  the  condition  of  affairs,  the  Comte  in- 
formed Valerie  of  the  King's  commands  as  to  herself  and 
Gaston.  The  brothers  had  not  been  on  friendly  terms  since 
their  childhood,  and  the  news  now  brought  by  the  elder  did  not 
tend  to  greater  amity.  An  open  quarrel  was  presently  averted 
by  the  tactful  interference  of  their  father,  who  led  away  his 
elder  son,  while  Franfois  vainly  sought  an  interview  with 
Valerie,  to  whom  he  at  length  succeeded  in  despatching  a  note 
by  the  hands  of  her  old  nurse,  Marie.  The  note  entreated 
her  to  let  him  know  at  midnight,  when  he  would  be  stationed 
under  her  window,  whether  she  would  marry  him.  Valerie 
was  by  no  means  sure  of  her  own  mind.  She  was  indifferent 
to  Gaston,  but,  being  of  a  frivolous,  butterfly  temperament, 
she  greatly  inclined  toward  the  gay  life  that  marriage  with  him 
would  open  to  her. 

While  Francois  waited  in  the  darkness  for  Valerie's  re- 
sponse, Gaston  set  off  through  the  garden  in  search  of  adven- 
tures in  the  auberge  of  the  village  of  Montarnaud,  followed  at  a 
little  distance  by  Valerie's  governess,  Mademoiselle  Saleme, 
who  had  previously  imagined  him  in  love  with  her  and  now, 
filled  with  jealousy  and  suspicion,  was  resolved  to  spy  upon  him. 
The  young  Abbe  Despard,  the  tutor  of  Francois,  while  walking 
in  the  garden  meanwhile,  encountered  her  returning  from  her 
quest  of  Gaston,  and  reproached  her  for  imprudence.  Resolved 
to  spy  upon  him  also,  the  governess  did  not  return  to  the  house, 
as  his  quick  ear  assured  him,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  was  either  acting  as  a  spy  or  was  set  to  watch  perhaps 
lest  a  private  meeting  of  Francois  and  Valerie  should  be  in- 
terrupted. At  midnight  Francois,  mounted  on  a  fruit-ladder, 
stood  at  Valerie's  window  to  receive  her  answer,  only  to  learn 
that  she  was  not  sufficiently  fond  of  him  to  give  up  the  splendors 
of  court  life  for  his  sake.     Frangois  was  beginning  to  storm 


JANE   GOODWIN  AUSTIN  3 

when  interrupted  by  his  brother's  voice  from  below  crying  out 
"Robbers!"  A  kick  from  Gaston  then  brought  Franjois  and 
the  ladder  to  the  ground,  and  a  conflict  ensued  in  which  the 
more  powerful  Francois  was  victor,  and,  fearing  lest  he  had 
given  the  other  a  mortal  blow,  he  fled.  He  had  hardly  done 
this,  however,  when  his  sense  of  honor  urged  him  to  return  and 
face  the  consequences,  and  at  this  moment  he  encountered 
his  friend,  the  Abb^,  who  counseled  him  to  wait  for  a  few  mo- 
ments till  he,  the  Abbe,  could  ascertain  what  had  taken  place. 

The  Abbe  presently  returned  with  the  news  that  Gaston 
was  not  dead,  was  perhaps  not  mortally  injured,  but  that  his 
father  was  in  a  white  rage  on  account  of  the  probable  dis- 
pleasure of  the  King,  and  that  the  governess  had  accused 
Franfois  of  "the  murder,"  as  she  termed  it.  The  Abbe  then 
advised  his  pupil  to  remain  in  hiding  for  a  short  time,  and 
produced  a  note  to  Francois  from  Valerie  urging  the  same 
course.  The  young  Baron  reluctantly  yielded  to  persuasion 
and  for  several  days  remained  concealed  in  the  home  of  the 
Abbe's  father,  a  grocer  in  Marseilles.  At  last  a  letter  from 
Valerie  reached  him  by  the  hands  of  Ahh6  Despard,  in  which 
the  writer  admitted  that,  although  she  did  not  love  Gaston, 
she  did  greatly  desire  to  live  at  the  court,  and  that  she  must  go. 

On  reading  these  words  Francois  resolved  to  sell  his  estates  in 
Normandy  and  leave  France,  saying:  "I  have  no  longer  a 
country,  a  home,  or  a  name.  The  King  of  France  has  stolen 
my  father's  honor  and  my  fiancee^s  faith.  I  renounce  all  that 
makes  me  a  Frenchman,  and  I  leave  the  country  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth,  never  to  set  foot  upon  its  soil  again." 

Upon  this  the  Abbe  suggested  that  he  resume  the  surgical 
studies  that  had  once  interested  him,  adding  that  army  hospitals 
were  rapid  schools;  that  if  Francois  desired  it  he  would  expatri- 
ate himself  also;  and  that  in  the  same  hospitals  he  could  give 
his  services  as  chaplain.  Francois  readily  adopted  the  sugges- 
tion as  to  the  study  of  surgery. 

About  six  years  after  these  events  the  young  Baron  and  his 
friend  were  on  board  a  French  privateer,  the  former  ranking 
as  ship's  surgeon  and  the  other  as  chaplain;  and  while  cruising 
in  Buzzard's  Bay,  in  the  Pilgrim  Colony,  they  were  wrecked 
near  the  Falmouth  shore.     As  France  and  England  were  then 


4  A   NAMELESS   NOBLEMAN 

at  war,  the  officers  and  crew  of  the  wrecked  vessel  were  ac- 
counted enemies  and  marched  to  Boston,  the  Abbe  among 
them.     But  Francois,  having  swum  ashore,  escaped  capture. 

Two  days  later,  Humphrey  Wilder,  a  farmer  near  Falmouth, 
left  home  with  his  wife,  a  Quaker  preacher,  to  attend  Quarterly 
Meeting  at  New  Bedford,  leaving  their  grown  daughter  Molly 
alone  in  charge  of  the  house.  Wilder  was  a  member  of  the 
Church  of  England,  and,  though  yielding  to  his  wife's  im- 
perious will  in  many  things,  utterly  refused  to  forsake  his 
church  for  Quakerism,  and  insisted  that  their  only  child  should 
be  reared  in  the  Anglican  faith.  On  leaving  England  he  pru- 
dently settled  himself  as  far  from  any  Friends'  meeting-place 
as  might  be,  so  that  Deborah,  to  her  great  vexation,  could  attend 
only  such  infrequent  gatherings  as  the  Quarterly  Meetings. 
Their  only  neighbors  were  a  family  named  Hetherford,  and 
Deborah  wished  Molly  to  marry  Reuben  Hetherford,  a  mean, 
small-natured  rustic.  Humphrey  did  not  favor  the  proposal; 
but  Reuben  was  the  only  young  man  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
an  unmarried  woman  was  of  small  importance  in  the  Pilgrim 
Colony.  He  had,  however,  distinctly  said  that  Reuben  was  not 
to  enter  the  house  in  his  absence,  unless  accompanied  by 
Mercy  Hetherford,  the  young  man's  sister. 

As  Molly  sat  at  her  spinning-wheel  after  her  parents  had 
driven  away,  she  saw  Reuben's  face  against  the  window,  and, 
after  slipping  into  place  the  bolt  across  the  door,  held  a  brief 
parley  with  him  at  the  window,  which  she  opened  slightly. 
Reuben  explained  that  he  stopped  to  say  that  Mercy  would 
come  to  stay  with  her  presently,  and  suggested  that  he  should 
come  in  for  a  little.  To  this  Molly  replied  as  her  father  had 
bidden  her,  and  remarking  that  it  was  too  cold  for  standing  at 
open  windows  returned  to  her  spinning,  while  her  disappointed 
lover  went  home  in  sullen  rage.  In  the  afternoon  Mercy 
Hetherford  arrived  to  keep  her  company,  and  as  a  storm  had  now 
arisen  Reuben  came  at  nightfall  to  take  them  both  to  the  Hether- 
ford farmhouse  after  supper.  As  Reuben  sat  at  the  table  with 
the  two  girls,  Molly's  repulsion  to  him  increased  when  she 
observed  his  uncouth  manners  and  listened  to  his  harsh  voice, 
and  she  felt  that  she  could  never  endure  to  be  his  wife.  He  had 
much  to  say  of  the  wreck  of  a  French  privateer  two  nights 


JANE   GOODWIN   AUSTIN  ^ 

previously,  and  added  that,  while  the  officers  and  crew  had 
been  nearly  all  taken  prisoners,  it  was  supposed  that  a  few 
had  escaped  and  were  in  hiding.  Twenty  dollars  a  head  had 
been  offered  for  all  Frenchmen  who  should  be  found,  he  said, 
and  he  wished  he  might  have  the  luck  to  capture  one  of  the 
fugitives. 

He  now  announced  that  it  was  time  for  them  all  to  set  out 
for  the  Hetherford  house,  where  his  mother  was  expecting 
Molly;  but  the  latter,  to  his  great  indignation,  declared  that  she 
should  stay  where  she  was,  and  when  he  attempted  to  command 
she  informed  him  that  she  did  not  recognize  his  right  to  com- 
mand her,  and  that  whatever  engagement  had  hitherto  ex- 
isted between  them  she  now  broke  off  altogether.  From  this 
position  she  would  not  retreat,  and  the  Hetherfords  departed 
in  wrath. 

Left  alone  with  only  her  cat  for  company,  Molly  assured 
herself  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  but  presently  a  tapping 
at  the  window  caught  her  attention  and  she  saw  a  man's  face 
against  the  pane.  She  seized  her  father's  clumsy  pistol  and 
pointed  it  toward  the  window,  but  the  man  did  not  stir.  He 
only  uttered  the  one  word,  "Bread."  That  he  was  starving 
his  white  face  now  assured  her,  and  she  hastened  to  let  him 
in.  As  she  did  so  a  fierce  blast  of  wind  hurled  him  over  the 
threshold  in  a  senseless  heap  upon  the  floor.  As  he  lay  there 
Molly  perceived  not  only  that  the  helpless  stranger  was  young 
and  handsome,  but  that  his  arm,  which  was  doubled  under 
him,  was  broken.  Her  efforts  to  straighten  it  aroused  him,  and 
he  murmured  something  in  French,  becoming  again  uncon- 
scious immediately. 

The  thought  that  this  might  be  the  chief  of  a  band  of  French 
marauders  crossed  Molly's  mind,  but  she  said  to  herself  that  she 
must  not  let  the  man  die  even  though  he  might  be  her  enemy; 
and  with  the  assistance  of  such  domestic  remedies  as  she  had 
at  hand  consciousness  returned  once  more  and  she  thereupon 
gave  him  food. 

With  returning  strength  the  stranger  related  how  his  arm 
had  been  broken  against  the  rocks,  and  with  some  difficulty 
Molly  comprehended  his  broken  English.  Following  his 
directions,  she  arranged  matters  so  that  with  his  unhurt  right 


6  A  NAMELESS   NOBLEMAN 

hand  he  drew  the  bone  into  place,  and  she  then  applied  splints 
and  bandages.  After  this  had  been  done  she  half-drew,  half- 
led  him  to  the  bed  in  the  next  room  and  there  left  him,  after 
ministering  to  his  comfort  so  far  as  she  was  able.  As  she  bent 
over  him  the  next  morning  he  was  sleeping  uneasily  and  mur- 
muring the  name  of  Valerie — a  possible  sweetheart,  Molly 
thought  with  a  twinge  of  pain. 

A  loud  knock  on  the  outer  door  aroused  the  sleeper,  and 
after  bidding  him  make  no  noise  she  returned  to  the  kitchen 
and  removed  every  trace  of  the  stranger's  presence  before  she 
opened  the  house  door  to  admit  Amariah  Coffin,  the  Wilders' 
hired  man,  who  had  returned  from  driving  her  parents  to 
New  Bedford.  He  was  a  privileged  member  of  the  house- 
hold, and  to  him  she  explained  in  regard  to  Reuben  and  Mercy, 
and  also  that  while  he  boarded  with  the  Hetherfords  he  was  not 
to  ask  any  of  them  to  come  and  stay  with  her,  as  she  was  not 
afraid  to  be  alone  for  the  six  days  of  her  parents'  absence, 
since  he  was  to  come  every  day  to  attend  to  the  live  stock.  After 
Amariah  had  gone  to  the  bam,  Molly  found  her  patient  in 
feverish  alarm: 

"Is  it  the  English  to  prisoner  me?"  he  demanded. 

"No,"  she  replied  soothingly,  "you  are  quite  safe  here,  and 
I  will  care  for  you."  She  then  told  him  her  name  in  response 
to  his  question,  learned  that  his  name  was  Francois,  and 
presently  busied  herself  in  arranging  for  his  comfort  and  security, 
wondering  the  while  at  the  strange  new  joy  and  light  that  had 
come  into  her  life. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  Amariah  entered  the  kitchen  to 
warm  his  hands,  he  told  of  footprints  he  had  seen  in  the  snow 
around  the  house,  and  of  a  strange  knife  he  had  found  in  the 
barn  and  had  let  Reuben  Hetherford  take,  and  how  Reuben 
said  he  would  track  the  owner  twenty  miles  but  he  would  find 
him. 

The  same  day  Mrs.  Hetherford  visited  Molly  in  order  to 
plead  her  son's  cause,  but  to  no  effect,  and  the  days  of  the 
Wilders'  absence  were  unbroken  by  another  visitor  till  the 
morning  of  the  last. 

On  the  previous  day  Amariah  set  out  to  bring  the  Wilders 
home,  and  Molly  then  arranged  a  sleeping-place  for  her  patient 


JANE   GOODWIN   AUSTIN  7 

in  the  attic,  as  he  was  unwilling  to  have  his  presence  known  to 
her  parents.  She  had  hardly  accomplished  his  transfer  the 
next  morning  when  she  was  surprised  by  a  call  from  Reuben, 
accompanied  by  John  Dibley,  a  constable,  with  a  search- 
warrant.  Molly  informed  the  constable  that  she  would  show 
him  over  the  house,  but  that  Reuben  must  keep  watch  on  the 
outside  lest  any  Frenchman  should  escape  during  the  search. 
She  accordingly  led  Dibley  from  cellar  to  garret  but  by  reason 
of  many  words  about  loose  boards  in  the  attic  floor  the  cau- 
tious constable  satisfied  himself  with  a  cursory  glance  from 
the  stair-head  that  nothing  was  to  be  seen  there  but  some  "house- 
hold stuff  out  of  use,"  and  declined  her  offer  to  pull  it  away 
that  he  might  see  no  one  was  concealed  behind  it. 

At  sunset  Amariah  returned  with  her  parents,  but  her  mother 
was  found  to  be  so  ill  as  to  need  putting  to  bed  at  once.  Hum- 
phrey explained  that  word  had  been  left  for  a  doctor  to  come 
from  New  Bedford  on  the  morrow;  but  as  it  then  turned  out 
the  practitioner  was  away,  and  a  Dutch  doctor,  named  Schwarz, 
arrived  in  his  place.  Molly,  observing  him  closely,  noticed 
the  use  of  a  French  word  or  two  in  his  speech,  and  on  her  next 
stolen  visit  to  Francois — their  love  for  each  other  being  now  no 
secret  to  either  of  them — she  told  of  his  presence.  Francois 
was  startled,  not  knowing  whether  the  stranger  might  prove 
friend  or  enemy. 

Meanwhile  Schwarz,  in  talking  with  Amariah,  learned  of 
the  finding  of  the  loiife,  and,  seeking  out  Reuben,  played  upon 
his  fears  with  suggestions  of  poisoned  blades  till  the  latter  readily 
yielded  up  the  knife  to  him.  He  at  once  recognized  the  dagger 
as  belonging  to  Francois,  and  adroitly  arranged  that  it  should 
reach  its  owner  at  the  hands  of  Molly,  whose  patient  then 
Icnew  that  Dr.  Schwarz  was  the  Abbe  Despard,  who  had  escaped 
from  Boston  in  disguise. 

While  Schwarz  was  attending  upon  Mrs.  Wilder  Molly's 
room  was  given  up  to  his  use,  and  there  the  friends  met  at  last. 
After  recounting  their  adventures  the  Abbe  proposed  that  they 
should  escape  to  Canada  that  night,  and  was  much  disturbed 
when  he  learned  that  his  friend  would  not  leave  until  Molly 
became  his  wife.  Remonstrance  was  useless,  and  when 
Franfois  had  gained  her  consent  to  marry  him  at  three  o'clock 


8  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

that  night,  it  was  settled  that  the  Abbe  should  perform  the 
ceremony.  She  had  heard  the  priest  speak  of  his  friend  as 
Monsieur  le  Baron  and  had  supposed  Le  Baron  to  be  her  lover's 
surname,  and  was  willing  enough  to  bear  that  name.  Arraying 
herself  in  some  India-muslin  curtains  embroidered  by  her 
grandmother,  and  some  lace  of  her  mother's  for  a  veil,  she  was 
able  to  satisfy  her  maidenly  desire  for  a  white  govm.  She  was 
married  in  her  own  chamber  by  the  whispered  voice  of  the 
priest,  and  a  few  moments  later  her  husband  and  the  Abbe 
departed,  Francois  to  return  and  claim  her  when  the  war  be- 
tween French  and  English  should  be  over. 

Two  years  and  more  went  by.  Her  rheumatic  fever  left 
Deborah  Wilder  a  querulous  semi-invalid,  and  in  the  following 
summer  Humphrey  died  of  sunstroke.  Ere  his  death  Molly 
confessed  her  secret,  only  to  learn  that  he  already  partly  knew; 
that  he  had  seen  her  in  her  bridal  dress  through  a  partly  open 
door,  but  that  he  never  had  doubted  her.  Deborah  died  the 
next  season,  leaving  Molly  alone,  and  it  was  settled  that  she 
should  live  with  Mrs.  Hetherford,  but  on  the  evening  after  the 
funeral  Franjois  appeared. 

Not  long  before  his  return  he  had  learned  of  the  peace, 
in  his  barrack  quarters  in  Canada,  and,  through  a  letter  to  the 
Abbe,  from  the  latter's  sister  Clotilde,  news  of  his  father's 
death  soon  followed  by  that  of  his  brother  Gaston  in  a  duel. 
Clotilde  added  that  Gaston's  widow  never  had  ceased  to  love 
his  brother.  The  Abbe  expected  that  his  friend  would  at  once 
return  to  the  Old  World,  but,  saying  that  his  wife  did  not  wish 
to  live  in  France,  he  declined  to  go. 

"Your  wife?    Mademoiselle  Marie  Wilder?" 

"No,  Madame  Le  Baron,  as  she  herself  named  her  future 
husband."  The  Abbe  then  announced  that  he  had  not  ac- 
tually married  Franfois  to  Mary  Wilder,  that  he  had  used  only 
the  words  of  solemn  troth-plight  and  one  of  the  penitential 
psalms. 

"I  knew  that  you  were  to  leave  her  immediately.  I  had 
seen  you  in  love  three  or  four  times  already;  I  knew  that  if 
you  ever  did  return  it  would  be  easy  to  complete  the  ceremony 
begun,  or  to  procure  dispensation  from  the  vows  of  betrothal. 
I  deceived  you  for  your  own  good." 


JANE   GOODWIN  AUSTIN  9 

Francois  found  it  difficult  to  forgive  this  lack  of  honor  in 
his  friend,  but  he  did  so  at  length,  and  they  parted,  the  Abbd 
for  France  and  Francois  for  Falmouth.  On  the  way  he  put 
up  at  an  inn  in  Plymouth  and  was  instrumental  in  preventing 
several  ignorant  practitioners  from  amputating  the  injured 
leg  of  the  landlady,  Betty  Tilley.  Under  his  care  the  diseased 
knee-joint  was  cured,  and  Dr.  Le  Baron  then  went  on  his  way. 
It  was  arranged  that  Francois  and  Molly  should  be  married  by 
Squire  Drew,  of  Falmouth,  the  next  morning  after  his  return; 
and  Dame  Hetherford,  to  whom  Molly  explained  that  she  and 
Dr.  Le  Baron  had  long  been  betrothed,  putting  aside  her  former 
resentment,  accompanied  the  pair  to  the  magistrate's  as  a  witness. 

They  were  to  pause  at  Plymouth  for  a  day  or  two  on  the  way 
to  Boston,  where  Franfois  had  intended  their  home  should  be, 
and  while  they  were  there  three  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town 
called  to  invite  him  to  remain  as  surgeon,  physician,  and  apothe- 
cary, his  skill  in  the  matter  of  Dame  Tilley's  leg  having  been 
greatly  admired.  A  tract  of  twenty-five  acres  outside  the 
village  and  a  house-lot  on  the  main  street  within  it  were  offered 
to  him  by  the  town,  besides  such  fees  as  were  customary. 
The  offer  was  accepted  with  the  proviso  that  while  he  was  not 
to  mention  to  any  but  the  three  selectmen  the  fact  of  his  Catholic 
faith,  no  one  was  to  seek  to  convert  him  to  Protestantism. 

On  the  Abbe's  return  to  France  he  went  to  Montamaud, 
where  his  sister  Clotilde  was  nurse  to  the  little  daughter  of  the 
Comtesse  Valerie;  but  in  spite  of  the  questioning  of  the 
Comtesse  she  learned  nothing  of  Fran9ois  from  the  Abbe. 
From  other  sources,  however,  she  ascertained  that  her  brother- 
in-law  was  alive,  and  the  Abbe  was  finally  induced  to  impart 
such  knowledge  of  Francois  as  he  possessed. 

A  year  after  the  marriage  of  Dr.  Le  Baron,  the  Abbe 
visited  Plymouth  and  informed  his  friend  that  after  consulting 
his  ecclesiastical  superiors  he  had  learned  that,  garbled  and 
shortened  as  was  the  ceremony  in  the  Wilder  farmhouse,  it  was 
an  actual  marriage,  and  he  asked  pardon  for  having  led  Dr.  Le 
Baron  into  any  doubt  of  the  validity  of  the  rite.  He  added 
that  a  secret  Roman  Catholic  Mission  had  been  established  in 
Boston,  and  invited  the  doctor  to  visit  him  there,  to  which  pro- 
posal Francois  assented. 


lo  A   NAMELESS   NOBLEMAN 

On  arriving  in  Boston  the  doctor  attended  a  secret  mass, 
after  which  he  was  led  to  a  room  in  which  he  found  Valerie  de 
Montamaud.  To  repeated  expressions  of  her  affection  he 
returned  but  cold  replies,  assuring  her  that  there  was  no  woman 
in  the  world  whom  it  would  be  so  impossible  for  him  to  love  as 
herself.  Leaving  her,  he  inquired  of  the  Abb6  the  motive  for 
his  plot,  and  the  priest  explained  that  he  was  in  New  England 
as  a  propagandist  of  the  faith,  and  that  the  mission  was  supported 
by  the  Comtesse.  As  Dr.  Le  Baron  was  the  heir,  after  her 
child,  of  nearly  all  the  property  of  the  Comtesse,  she  wished  to 
consult  him  regarding  its  disposition  and  to  bring  him  into 
sympathy  with  the  work  of  the  mission.  This  she  had  fancied 
could  best  be  done  in  a  personal  interview.  The  hearer  did 
not  put  entire  faith  in  the  priest's  sincerity,  but  assured  him 
that  had  his  heart  not  been  protected  by  a  very  vivid  love  of 
his  wife,  much  harm  might  have  come  from  the  plot.  The 
next  day  he  returned  to  Plymouth. 

When  the  Le  Barons'  first -bom  son,  Lazarus,  was  a  well- 
grown  lad  his  father  made  a  voyage  as  the  medical  attendant 
of  the  Marquis  de  Vieux,  an  eccentric  and  wealthy  invalid, 
to  be  absent  several  months.  Nothing  was  heard  of  the  vessel 
in  which  they  sailed  till  in  three  months  news  came  to  Plymouth 
that  the  Belle  Isle  had  been  captured  by  pirates  and  burned, 
only  a  single  sailor  escaping  to  tell  the  tale.  A  year  later  Reuben 
Hetherford  again  asked  Molly  to  marry  him,  which  she  refused 
to  do,  and  to  support  herself  opened  a  dame  school,  having 
studied  much  with  her  husband  and  son.  At  a  later  period 
she  was  visited  by  the  Abbe,  who  wished  to  take  her  son  to  be 
educated  in  France  and  assume  the  place  there  to  which  his 
birth  entitled  him,  a  proposal  which  Mrs.  Le  Baron  declined 
with  dignity.  The  Abbe  wrote  to  the  Comtesse  of  his  failure, 
and  she,  resolving  to  manage  the  affair  herself,  presently  ap- 
peared in  Plymouth  with  the  priest  and  her  daughter,  and  on 
meeting  with  Mrs.  Le  Baron  implored  her  to  let  the  boy  stand 
in  his  father's  place,  inherit  the  name  and  estates,  and  in  due 
time  wed  his  cousin,  the  daughter  of  Valerie.  Mrs.  Le  Baron 
consented  that  the  matter  should  be  brought  before  the  boy 
in  his  mother's  presence;  but  before  this  could  be  done  Dr. 
Le  Baron  appeared,  having  but  recently  escaped  from  the  pirates 


JANE   GOODWIN   AUSTIN  ii 

by  whom  he  was  supposed  to  have  been  killed.  The  question  of 
the  boy's  future  was  now  put  before  the  father  and,  as  before, 
the  decision  was  left  to  young  Lazarus  whether  he  would  take 
his  father's  rank  and  fortunes  in  France  and  become  a  stranger 
to  his  parents,  or  remain  the  son  of  a  country  physician.  His 
answer  was  to  be  given  to  the  Comtesse  early  the  next  morning, 
no  further  word  being  said  to  him  on  the  subject  by  either 
parent. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  day  Lazarus  came  to  his  parents, 
saying : 

"They've  sailed,  father,  and  the  gentleman  bade  me  say 
good -by  to  you  for  all  of  them;  and  the  lady  added,  'And  tell 
him  we  shall  trouble  him  no  more:  he  is  safe.'" 


MASSIMO  TAPARELLI  D'AZEGLIO 

(Italy,  1 798-1866) 

ETTORE  FIERAMOSCA;    OR,  THE  CHALLENGE  OF 
BARLETTA  (1833) 

The  author  of  this  story  followed  the  examples  of  many  of  his  contempo- 
raries in  imitating  the  style  of  Manzoni's  /  Promessi  Sposi;  but  the  Fieramosca 
won  a  high  place  on  its  own  merits. 

T  the  close  of  a  day  in  April,  1503,  the  bell  of 
St.  Domenico,  in  B arietta,  was  sounding  the  last 
tocsins  of  the  Ave  Maria.  His  Grace  the  Lord 
Gonzales  Hernandez  had  garrisoned  his  army 
in  B arietta,  where  he  awaited  the  tardy  arrival 
of  reenforcements  from  Spain;  for  his  troops 
were  inferior  in  numbers  to  the  French,  who 
besieged  the  town.  Groups  of  Italian  and  Span- 
ish soldiery  were  gathered  on  the  piazza.  A 
light  vessel  approached  Barletta,  a  boat  was  lowered  from  her 
sides,  and  two  men  came  ashore. 

"Michele,"  said  the  one  whose  bearing  had  an  air  of  superi- 
ority, "the  time  has  come  to  be  on  thy  guard.  Thou  knowest 
who  I  am.  I'll  say  no  more."  The  two  companions  passed  on 
together  to  the  *'Inn  of  the  Sun,"  where  they  found  themselves  in 
the  company  of  a  few  soldiers  belonging  to  Prospero  Colonna, 
who  then  followed  the  fortunes  of  Spain.  One  fellow  named 
Boscherino,  on  seeing  the  strangers,  could  not  repress  an  ex- 
clamation—" The  Duke ! "  A  withering  glance  from  one  of  the 
visitors  silenced  the  surprised  speaker. 

Veleno,  the  host,  was  preparing  food  for  his  guests  when  a 
man  dashed  up  with  the  news  that  Diego  Garcia  was  returning 
with  his  cavalcade  and  three  French  prisoners.    That  night 

12 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  13 

"the  Duke"  sent  for  Boscherino,  who  received  the  summons 
in  fear  and  trembUng.  Don  Michele  led  him  into  the  pres- 
ence of  his  strange  and  terrible  master. 

"I  have  been  recognized  by  thee,  Boscherino,"  he  said, 
"and  I  am  glad.  Tell  no  one  thou  hast  seen  me.  Thou 
knowest  I  can  reward  thy  services,  nor  will  it  improve  thy  pros- 
pects much  to  excite  my  displeasure."  Boscherino  bowed  his 
head  with  reverence  and  left  the  room. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  Diego  Garcia  di  Paredes, 
with  his  men  and  prisoners,  arrived  at  the  inn.  Veleno  had 
ready  a  hot  supper  for  the  famished  company.  Hunger  ap- 
peased, the  conversation  became  general  and  gay;  Inigo,  a 
handsome  young  Spaniard,  was  alone  morose  over  the  loss  of 
his  steed,  which  La  Motte,  one  of  the  French  captains,  had 
killed  in  the  recent  encounter.  This  same  Baron  La  Motte 
began  disparaging  the  Italians,  calling  them  cowards  and 
assassins;  he  cited  the  infamous  deeds  of  the  Pontiff  and  those 
of  his  son,  Duke  Valentino  (Caesar  Borgia).  Then  the 
Frenchman  spoke  of  one  deed,  in  particular,  perpetrated  by 
the  latter  villain,  who,  failing  in  his  designs  upon  the  beautiful 
Ginevra  di  Montreale,  poisoned  her.  At  that  time  it  was 
rumored  Ettore  Fieramosca  had  been  her  lover,  and  this  fact 
explained  his  deep  melancholy  and  apparent  unsociability, 
though  that  did  not  interfere  with  his  wide  popularity  in  the  army. 
Inigo  praised  Ettore,  his  friend,  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  Spanish 
heart.  La  Motte  sneered  contemptuously,  and  declared  that 
every  Italian  was  a  poltroon.  Unable  longer  to  restrain  his 
passion,  Inigo  gave  vent  to  his  rage  in  a  torrent  of  words. 

"Were  one  of  our  Italians  here,  and  above  all,  Fieramosca," 
he  cried,  "  and  you,  who  are  a  prisoner  of  Garcia,  were  only  free, 
you  would  have  occasion  to  learn  that  a  French  knight  would 
have  good  use  for  both  his  hands  to  save  his  skin  from  the  good 
sword  of  a  single  Italian." 

Angry  argument  followed,  and  it  was  decided  that  when 
La  Motte  and  his  two  fellow  prisoners  were  ransomed,  a  chal- 
lenge "  to  a  battle  in  full  armor,  and  to  the  last  drop  of  blood," 
with  a  given  number  of  combatants  on  either  side,  would  be 
accepted. 

The  impetuous  Inigo  was  too  impatient  to  await  the  morning 


14  ETTORE    FIERAMOSCA 

light  ere  he  could  tell  Fieramosca  of  the  events.  He  reached 
the  neighborhood  of  the  castle  of  Barletta  as  the  sun  rose,  and 
found  his  friend  already  awake.  Fieramosca  listened  to  the 
narrator  with  flashing  eyes.  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Now  is 
not  the  time  for  words  but  for  deeds,"  he  cried,  and  began 
naming  the  champions  who  were  to  be  chosen  for  the  combat. 
Upon  one  Brancaleone  he  depended  most,  for  he  knew  him  at 
once  as  a  lofty -minded,  magnanimous,  and  powerful  man. 
"  First  of  all  we  must  confer  with  Signor  Prospero  Colonna,  and 
afterward  address  ourselves  to  Gonzales  for  the  safe-conduct," 
said  Fieramosca  to  Inigo,  as  they  walked  along  the  streets 
toward  the  residence  of  the  Colonna  brothers.  On  the  way 
they  were  joined  by  Brancaleone. 

When  the  three  friends  reached  their  destination  they  were 
greeted  by  the  flower  of  the  Italian  army.  The  only  subject  of 
discourse  was  the  challenge.  After  a  few  moments  Signor 
Prospero  appeared.  •  This  wise  Prince  realized  the  extreme 
importance  of  the  result  of  a  combat  at  the  present  crisis,  for 
Italy  was  vacillating  between  two  contending  sovereigns.  He 
invited  Fieramosca  to  render  a  minute  account  of  the  whole 
matter.  Signor  Prospero  thereupon  addressed  his  audience, 
and  requested  each  man  to  write  his  name  on  paper,  that  he 
might  submit  the  list  to  Gonzales.  Within  an  hour  that  great 
captain  conceded  safe-conduct  and  an  open  field  for  ten  men- 
at-arms,  Ettore  Fieramosca  being  the  first  chosen  among  the 
knights.  To  him,  also,  was  accorded  the  honor  of  bearing  the 
written  challenge  to  the  French  camp.  Brancaleone  accom- 
panied Fieramosca  into  the  enemy's  lines. 

It  was  during  this  mission  that  Fieramosca  confided  his 
unhappy  love  adventure  to  Brancaleone,  who  listened  with 
deep  interest  to  its  unfolding.  When  but  a  youth  of  sixteen, 
under  the  command  of  Count  Bosio  di  Montreale,  he  had  met 
his  captain's  daughter,  and  they  loved  at  first  sight.  Fiera- 
mosca held  himself  the  most  blessed  man  in  the  realm  of  Naples; 
then  war  broke  out,  and  he  separated  from  Ginevra  cursing 
fate.  After  being  severely  wounded  he  made  his  way  to  Rome, 
where  he  was  horrified  to  hear  what  had  befallen  Ginevra  in 
his  absence.  During  a  sack  of  Capua  her  father  had  been 
killed,  and  she  forced  into  marrying  a  ruffianly  captain,  named 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  15 

Claudio  Grajano  d'Asti.  As  if  this  were  not  evil  enough,  the 
infamous  Caesar  Borgia,  whose  terrific  acts  were  the  subject  of 
universal  discussion,  got  wind  of  her  enchanting  loveliness,  and 
his  passion  was  aroused.  Finding  her  virtue  impregnable,  he 
succeeded  in  administering  a  drug,  which  induced  such  profound 
coma  that  all  said  Ginevra  was  dead.  Like  others  not  in  the 
secret  of  her  suspended  animation,  Fieramosca  thought  his 
unfortunate  lady  was  no  more.  He  resolved  to  kill  himself,  and 
at  night  secretly  stole  into  the  church  to  die  beside  her  bier. 
Prying  open  the  coffin  for  one  last  look  and  kiss,  the  desperate 
lover  was  astounded  by  symptoms  of  life  in  the  supposed  corpse. 
A  faithful  servitor  had  luckily  followed  Fieramosca,  and  together 
they  carried  Ginevra  from  the  sacristy.  Hardly  had  this  been 
done  successfully  ere  Caesar  Borgia  appeared,  accompanied  by 
about  thirty  soldiers.  The  foiled  Duke  raged  around  the 
deserted  church,  but  was  obliged  to  abandon  his  undertaking. 
All  these  incidents  had  occurred  some  years  ago.  Meanwhile 
Grajano  had  followed  the  fortunes  of  Cssar  Borgia,  and  the 
restored  Ginevra  did  not  seek  to  join  him ;  instead  she  had  placed 
herself  under  the  protection  of  Fieramosca,  and  he  had  secured  a 
refuge  for  her  in  the  convent  of  St.  Ursula  on  the  island  off  the 
shores  of  B  arietta.  Not  a  soul  knew  of  her  whereabouts  save 
Brancaleone,  who  now  listened  to  the  tale  for  the  first  time,  and 
a  Saracen  maid,  Zoraide,  her  constant  companion,  whom 
Fieramosca  had  once  rescued  from  drowning. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  extraordinary  narrative,  French 
cavaliers  appeared  to  conduct  the  two  Italian  knights  into  the 
pavilion  of  their  commander.  Fier^-mosca,  after  repeating  the 
insult  of  La  Motte,  read  the  challenge,  which  was  promptly 
accepted,  with  the  condition  that  the  number  of  combatants  be 
thirteen  on  each  side  in  lieu  of  ten.  The  young  Italian  was 
confounded  to  find  Grajano,  the  husband  of  Ginevra,  in  the 
retinue  of  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  and  more  nonplused  when 
he  learned  that  the  rascal  would  fight  in  the  forthcoming  com- 
bat against  his  countrymen. 

''Can  you  lift  your  sword  with  the  French  against  the  honor 
of  the  ItaHans?"  exclained  Fieramosca  to  Grajano,  his  eyes 
flashing  fire. 

" I  fight  for  those  who  pay  me! "  said  Grajano  with  a  laugh. 


i6  ETTORE    FIERAMOSCA 

Fieramosca  hurled  the  epithet  "Traitor ! "  at  him,  and  the  an- 
tagonists were  unsheathing  their  swords  when  a  muhitude  sepa- 
rated them,  remembering  that  the  person  of  a  herald  is  held 
sacred.  Ettore  turned  and  excused  himself  for  what  had  taken 
place,  but  even  the  Frenchmen  admired  his  action.  An  hour 
later  the  herald  and  his  companion  passed  over  the  draw- 
bridge of  the  gate  of  B arietta.  They  proceeded  at  once  to 
Gonzales,  who  thereupon  proclaimed  a  truce  till  the  combat 
was  over;  he  also  sent  an  invitation  to  the  Duke  de  Nemours 
to  join  him  at  a  fete  he  had  planned  for  his  daughter,  Elvira, 
who  was  expected  shortly  in  B  arietta. 

That  same  day  the  two  strange  guests  at  the  "  Inn  of  the  Sun," 
who  were  Caesar  Borgia  (Duke  Valentino)  and  his  henchman, 
Don  Michele  da  Corella,  began  working  out  the  former's 
purposes,  which  were  to  find  Ginevra,  and  to  attempt  a  secret 
political  alliance  with  Gonzales.  Don  Michele  conveyed  a 
letter  to  the  Spanish  captain,  who  granted  Caesar  Borgia  an 
audience.  While  waiting  in  an  antechamber  Don  Michele 
cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  the  Podesta  of  B arietta,  a  garru- 
lous, weak-minded  old  man,  and  he  told  the  wily  questioner  of 
Fieramosca's  incurable  melancholy  because  of  a  hopeless  love. 
Don  Michele  pretended  he  could  cure  the  case  provided  he  were 
allowed  to  pass  five  minutes  with  the  fair  object  of  unrequited 
love.  The  foolish  Podesta  promised  to  locate  the  unknown 
inamorata.  Duke  Valentino  was  pleased  at  the  report  of  prog- 
ress made.  Donning  a  hooded  mantle,  which  disguised  him, 
he  made  his  way  unobserved  to  the  castle,  where  the  illustrious 
Gonzales  temporized  about  the  proposed  league  of  forces,  but 
ofiFered  his  visitor  a  suite  of  rooms  for  his  privacy  while  he  stayed 
in  Barletta. 

As  the  vesper-hymn  was  chanted  in  the  church  of  the  con- 
vent of  St.  Ursula,  Ginevra  knelt  in  prayer,  one  that  was  brief 
and  seldom  varied.  "Most  Holy  Virgin,"  she  said,  "help  me 
not  to  love  him.  Give  me  courage  to  seek  out  Grajano,  and  to 
desire  to  find  him."  She  made  a  resolution  to  tell  Fieramosca 
of  her  intention  to  search  for  her  husband,  but  when  the  young 
knight  came  to  the  island  in  his  little  boat  at  twilight  she  lacked 
the  courage  of  declaration,  while  he  equally  failed  to  impart  the 
fact  that  Grajano  was  alive  and  among  French  soldiers.    Fiera- 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  17 

mosca,  however,  gave  eloquent  tongue  to  describing  the 
forthcoming  conflict,  and  also  the  jete,  proclaimed  in  honor  of 
the  Lady  Elvira,  for  which  a  truce  had  been  agreed  upon. 
Ginevra  forgot  her  worry,  and  Zoraide  her  embroidery,  in 
giving  attention  to  the  exciting  news.  Their  questions  knew 
no  bounds,  especially  regarding  the  personal  appearance  of  the 
great  captain's  daughter. 

Playing  his  part  with  the  simple  Podestk,  Don  Michele  got 
him  to  point  out  Fieramosca;  then,  to  allay  any  suspicion,  the 
knave  alleged  that  he  possessed  God-given  miraculous  powers, 
which  he  would  exhibit  that  night  to  prove  his  interest  beyond 
suspicion.  From  Gennaro,  the  gardener  of  St.  Ursula  and 
friend  of  the  Podesta,  Don  Michele  gathered  that  Ginevra 
lived  at  the  convent.  To  settle  all  doubt  in  the  mind  of  his  dupe 
was  now  his  task,  so  Don  Michele,  arranging  with  Boscherino 
to  help  him  with  a  supernatural  seance,  led  the  Podesta  to  a 
ruined  church  and  cemetery,  where  the  intrepid  villain  began 
his  conjurations.  His  companion  was  chattering  with  fright 
when  a  ghost  slowly  rose  from  one  of  the  vaults.  It  pointed  to  a 
tomb,  which  Don  Michele  examined,  and  found  therein  a  pile 
of  gold  coins.  But  a  score  of  brigands  at  this  moment  burst  in 
upon  them,  held  pikes  to  their  throats,  and  took  the  heap  of 
money.  The  prisoners  were  bound,  blindfolded,  and  led  away 
on  an  unknown  journey  which  lasted  over  an  hour,  then  Don 
Michele  felt  himself  pushed  through  a  door,  and  down  a  num- 
ber of  steps,  into  a  cell.  The  grating  of  a  bolt  assured  the  cap- 
tive that  there  was  little  hope  of  escape.  By  the  next  morning 
Don  Michele  had  correctly  guessed  that  he  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  tower  which  defended  the  convent  of  St.  Ursula  at  the 
head  of  the  bridge  connecting  city  and  island.  It  was  com- 
manded by  Schwarzenbach,  a  guzzling  German,  in  league 
with  the  bandits,  who  hid  their  booty,  and  held  their  captives  in 
prospect  of  reward. 

Don  Michele  was  brought  before  this  German  mercenary, 
who  tried  to  intimidate  him,  but  the  pupil  of  Caesar  Borgia 
turned  the  tables  by  declaring  that  an  unseen  witness  (none 
other  than  Boscherino  in  the  guise  of  a  ghost)  had  already 
alarmed  Barletta  of  the  midnight  attack.  Schwarzenbach  gave 
full  credence  to  the  assertion  when  his  men  reported  the  rapid 

A.  D.,  VOL.  II.— 2 


i8  ETTORE    FIERAMOSCA 

approach  of  cavalry.  It  naturally  led  him  to  conclude  his 
prisoner  was  of  high  rank,  and  Don  Michele  embraced  the  op- 
portunity to  wring  from  him  a  promise  to  lend  aid  in  the  ab- 
duction of  Ginevra  at  a  given  time.  Suddenly  an  old  hag 
broke  into  their  midst  crying  out  that  the  brigand  leader, 
Pietraccio,  had  murdered  the  Podesta,  and  that  police  and 
soldiers  were  pursuing  the  band  of  cutthroats.  She  had 
barely  finished  when  a  body  of  cavalry,  led  by  Ettore  Fiera- 
mosca,  drove  on  to  the  bridge.  They  had  two  prisoners. 
One  was  was  the  ferocious  Pietraccio;  the  other  was  his  mother, 
herself  an  outlaw  of  fearful  character.  She  had  been  badly 
wounded  in  the  latest  encounter.  Both  were  thrown  into  the 
dungeon  recently  occupied  by  Don  Michele.  Fieramosca, 
without  being  observed,  slipped  away  and  visited  Ginevra, 
who  was  surprised  at  his  unexpected  appearance  at  that  hour. 
He  related  the  adventures  of  the  night,  and  dwelt  upon  the 
heroic  defense  of  the  son  made  by  the  bandit-mother.  Ginevra's 
compassion  was  excited,  and  she  determined  to  goto  her  succor 
with  simples.  To  accomplish  this  charity  Fieramosca  had  to 
obtain  the  dungeon  key  from  Schwarzenbach,  but  Don  Michele 
anticipated  him,  and  wheedling  the  key  from  the  bewildered 
commander  he  descended  the  cellar  to  set  Pietraccio  free.  He 
found  the  bandit-mother  dying,  and  with  her  last  breath  she 
cursed  Caesar  Borgia,  who  had  ruined  her  life,  and  bade  her  son 
kill  that  fiend  incarnate.  Placing  his  poniard  in  the  outlaw's 
hand  Don  Michele  told  him  how  to  escape.  In  the  features  of 
the  dead  woman  Don  Michele  had  recognized  those  of  the 
wayward  wife  of  his  youth ! 

It  was  the  day  on  which  Donna  Elvira  was  expected,  and 
the  courtyard  and  terraces  of  B arietta  Castle  were  magnificently 
decorated.  Gonzales  and  his  suite  rode  away  to  meet  her. 
Prospero  and  Fabrizio  Colonna  were  mounted  on  Arab  steeds, 
while  the  herculean  Diego  Garcia  was  on  the  back  of  a  wild 
Calabrian  stallion.  Ettore  Fieramosca,  arrayed  in  white 
satin,  rode  between  Inigo  and  Brancaleone.  On  their  way 
the  cavalcade  encountered  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  with  all 
his  barons,  coming  to  participate  in  the  feie.  Gonzales  prayed 
him  to  accompany  him,  and  a  mile  from  the  gates  of  the  city 
Elvira  and  her  train,  which  included  the  noble  Vittoria  Colonna, 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  19 

appeared.  Dismounting,  Gonzales  ran  to  embrace  his  child, 
and  Ettore  and  Inigo,  having  been  chosen  to  act  as  esquires  to 
Elvira,  came  forward  with  an  Andalusian  jennet,  which  the  young 
Italian,  on  bended  knee,  helped  her  to  mount.  Donna  Elvira 
thanked  him  with  a  smile,  and  a  glance  of  frank  admiration. 

The  brilhant  cortege  entered  Barletta,  and  dismounted  at 
the  castle,  where  apartments  were  assigned  to  the  new  guests. 
Soon  after  the  games  and  tournaments  took  place.  Bulls  were 
loosed  in  the  arena  and  killed  by  men,  among  whom  Diego 
Garcia  distinguished  himself.  Then  the  knights  entered  the 
lists  and  fought  against  one  another;  in  these  combats  Inigo 
won  high  honors  for  the  Spanish,  and  Bajardo  was  acclaimed 
the  greatest  lance  among  the  French.  But  Grajano  d'Asti, 
more  by  good  luck  than  skill,  came  off  victor  of  the  day, 
much  to  the  chagrin  of  Fieramosca,  who  was  compelled  to 
remain  beside  Donna  Elvira,  and  surrounded  by  noblest  barons. 
Again  Ettore  vowed  to  inform  Ginevra  that  her  detestable 
husband  was  alive  and  in  French  service.  Little  did  Elvira 
imagine  his  train  of  thought;  the  coquettish  Spanish  maiden 
had  indeed  begun  to  look  on  her  handsome  knight  as  a  pos- 
sible lover.  Two  in  that  vast  assemblage  watched  Elvira  and 
Ettore  with  painful  emotions.  One  was  Vittoria  Colonna,  who 
held  a  deep  affection  for  the  girl,  and  knew  her  susceptibility; 
the  other  was  Zoraide,  the  Saracen  attendant  on  Ginevra,  whose 
hidden  passion  for  Fieramosca  had  been  only  vaguely  suspected 
by  her  mistress.  Zoraide  had  persuaded  Gennaro  to  take  her 
to  the  tournament  that  morning,  and  she  departed  without 
waking  Ginevra.  When  she  did  awake  a  hundred  wild  fan- 
tasies crowded  on  her  brain.  She  was  suspicious  of  Zoraide  for 
leaving  her  so  mysteriously,  and  even  doubted  Ettore.  Weary 
of  her  own  thoughts,  she  walked.  The  tower  which  guarded 
the  entrance  to  the  island  was  utterly  abandoned ;  Schwarzen- 
bach  and  his  men  had  gone  to  the  fete.  Suddenly  a  wretched, 
miserable  man  crept  out  of  the  bushes  and  threw  himself  on 
her  mercy.  It  was  the  hunted  Pietraccio.  Compassion  com- 
pelled Ginevra  to  hide  him  in  a  secret  place  under  her  house, 
where  she  brought  him  food. 

Zoraide  and  Gennaro  returned,  the  former  evasive  of 
questions,  but  the  gardener  garrulous  about  the  recent  exhibition. 


20  ETTORE   FIERAMOSCA 

He  rattled  on,  relating  all  the  details  of  how  Fieramosca  and 
Elvira  were  such  a  matchless  pair,  and  that  it  was  rumored  they 
were  to  be  married,  and  of  how  a  certain  Grajano  d'Asti  had 
won  the  trophy.  Of  course  this  news  fearfully  agitated  Ginevra, 
who  sought  refuge  in  prayer.  After  long  agony  of  soul,  the 
supplicant  decided  to  leave  the  convent  that  night  by  sea  to 
seek  her  husband.  "I  will  do  right  without  thinking  of  the 
consequences,"  she  said  firmly.  "The  agonies  I  am  going  to 
encounter  will  only  be  the  expiation  of  my  errors."  While 
Ginevra  was  in  the  depths  of  anguish,  Pietraccio  in  his  con- 
cealment overheard  a  conversation  between  Schwarzenbach  and 
Boscherino,  in  which  the  worthy  pair  discussed  the  abduction  of 
Ginevra  that  evening,  and  he  learned  that  the  instigator, 
Caesar  Borgia,  was  in  Barletta.  At  the  first  opportunity  the 
bloodthirsty  brigand  swam  to  shore,  bent  on  his  mission  of 
revenge. 

Meanwhile  all  was  gayety  in  the  audience-hall  of  Gonzales, 
where  a  sumptuous  repast  was  served.  The  fervid  heart  of 
Elvira  was  now  entirely  given  up  to  Ettore.  Even  when  a  cloud 
settled  over  his  brow,  she  believed  herself  the  cause,  though  his 
mind  was  occupied  with  the  unfortunate  advent  of  Grajano 
d'Asti.  One  of  Ettore's  boon  companions,  FanfuUa  by  name, 
had  become  completely  fascinated  gazing  upon  the  beauty  of 
Elvira.  Envy  and  a  tinge  of  ill  will  possessed  him  at  the  absorbed 
attention  she  gave  Fieramosca,  to  whom  Fanfulla  once  play- 
fully whispered :  "But  thou  wilt  pay  me  for  this  some  day." 

The  gala-day  of  Gonzales  wound  up  with  presentations  of 
plays,  followed  by  a  grand  ball.  In  the  courtyard  a  squalid  man 
wandered  unnoticed — it  was  Pietraccio  seeking  to  assassinate 
Cassar  Borgia,  and  to  give  warning  to  Fieramosca  of  Ginevra's 
peril.  All  unconscious  of  imminent  danger  Ettore  danced  with 
the  enamored  Elvira,  who  was  rash  enough  to  propose  their 
going  out  on  the  terrace  after  that  dance.  Fanfulla  heard  these 
words,  and  when  a  few  moments  later  Fieramosca  excused 
himself  to  his  fair  partner,  pleading  headache,  the  jealous 
fellow  watched  his  exit;  he  was  astonished  to  see  Fieramosca 
rush  from  the  place  without  cap  or  mantle,  but  he  did  not  know 
that  the  cause  of  this  violent  action  was  a  note,  dropped  at  the 
young  knight's  feet,  warning  him  of  the  plot  to  steal  Ginevra. 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  21 

Inigo  and  Brancaleone  also  observed  the  precipitous  flight,  and 
they  followed  Ettore,  whom  they  found  talking  excitedly  with 
Pietraccio.  Everything  was  then  explained,  and  the  men, 
securing  armor  and  swords,  set  off  in  a  boat  for  St.  Ursula. 
Fieramosca  and  his  companions  sped  over  the  dark  waters, 
passed  unheeded  one  lonely  figure  in  a  little  boat,  and  came 
upon  another  boat,  holding  six  men  and  the  prone  figure  of  a 
woman.  A  fierce  fight  ensued,  during  which  Pietraccio  was 
knocked  senseless  in  the  bottom  of  the  enemies'  skiff ;  Fieramosca 
was  wounded  by  a  dagger-thrust  in  the  hand  of  Don  Michele, 
but  the  unconscious  female  was  rescued.  When  her  saviors 
reached  the  convent  they  saw  that  the  woman  was  Zoraide,  but 
the  closest  search  failed  to  reveal  Ginevra  anywhere.  Despair 
seized  upon  Fieramosca,  and  with  it  a  terrible  illness,  caused 
by  the  dagger,  which  was  a  poisoned  one.  Zoraide  recovered 
from  her  swoon  and  began  administering  to  the  stricken  knight, 
who  became  deUrious. 

Of  contrasting  character  were  the  events  occurring  at  the 
castle.  Fanfulla  watched  Elvira  saunter  out  upon  the  terrace, 
and,  securing  the  cloak  and  cap  belonging  to  Fieramosca,  joined 
her.  In  the  semi-darkness  the  daughter  of  Gonzales  was 
deceived  by  the  subterfuge.  The  moon  shone  unexpectedly, 
and  a  piercing  scream  rang  out  from  below.  Elvira  and 
Fanfulla  hurriedly  separated  for  fear  of  the  crowd  that  might 
be  attracted  to  the  terrace  by  the  sound  of  the  woman's  voice. 

That  cry  rang  in  the  ears  of  the  Duke  Valentino,  Ceesar  Bor- 
gia, as  he  dozed  in  his  apartment  on  the  ground-floor  of  the  castle. 
Jumping  up  he  made  his  way  to  the  shore,  where  he  discovered  a 
woman  unconscious  in  a  boat.  He  carried  her  to  his  rooms. 
Conceive  his  astonishment  on  beholding  the  face  of  Ginevra, 
pallid  and  piteous.  She  had  fallen  insensible  at  witnessing  the 
scene  in  the  moonlight  between  Elvira  and  the  false  Fieramosca. 
Caesar  Borgia  wasted  no  time  in  executing  his  foul  intentions 
upon  Ginevra.  Tears  and  pleadings  were  of  no  avail.  The 
wild  anguish  and  despair  of  the  wretched  woman  were  inde- 
scribable, but  her  fate  was  fixed  and  irrevocable!  Don  Michele 
returned  in  time  to  help  carry  the  inanimate  form  of  Ginevra 
back  to  her  little  skiff.  He  saw  blood-marks  on  her  left  side. 
Preparations  were  then  made  for  departure,  and  the  terrible 


22  ETTORE    FIERAMOSCA 

Caesar  Borgia,  with  his  servitors,  left  Barletta  in  a  vessel  await- 
ing them.  Pietraccio,  the  prisoner  of  Don  Michele,  attempted 
to  kill  the  fiendish  Duke  Valentino,  but  that  son  of  Satan  plunged 
a  poniard  in  the  young  bandit's  heart,  kicked  the  palpitating 
body,  and  ordered  it  flung  overboard. 

Leaving  Fieramosca  in  Zoraide's  care,  Brancaleone  and 
Inigo  went  to  Gonzales  with  the  story  of  the  night's  adventures. 
A  search  was  instituted  too  late  to  catch  Caesar  Borgia,  though 
they  found  his  victim.  Ginevra  revived  long  enough  to  bless 
Elvira,  who  she  supposed  was  Fieramosca's  fiancee,  for  she 
had  been  witness  to  the  scene  on  the  terrace  which  had  provoked 
her  cry  of  agony.  After  receiving  the  sacrament  she  prayed  for 
their  happiness,  then  died.  This  calamity  was  kept  secret 
from  Fieramosca,  because  of  his  condition,  which  was  convales- 
cent, under  the  care  of  Zoraide,  and  because  of  the  approaching 
date  of  combat  with  the  French,  in  which  he  hoped  to  dis- 
tinguish himself.  Brancaleone  assured  him  that  Ginevra 
was  in  good  keeping,  though  she  could  not  see  him  until  after 
the  great  test  of  arms.  Ettore  was  not  satisfied  by  this  ex- 
planation, but  contented  himself  with  preparing  for  the  field. 

The  memorable  day  of  the  combat  dawned.  Twenty- 
six  knights,  in  dazzling  armor,  ranged  themselves  in  line  for  a 
desperate  contest.  Long  and  furious  was  the  fighting,  each 
man  determined  to  conquer  his  foe.  Brancaleone  clave  the 
skull  of  Grajano  d'Asti  in  twain.  La  Motte  was  unhorsed  and 
defeated  by  Fieramosca  after  a  terrible  conflict.  At  last  the 
judges  descended  from  the  tribunal  and  approached  the  scene 
of  blood,  causing  the  trumpets  to  be  sounded,  and  proclaiming 
in  a  loud  voice  that  the  Italians  had  conquered. 

Vittoria  Colonna  considered  it  her  duty  to  break  the  news 
of  Ginevra's  death  to  Fieramosca,  but  when  it  came  to  the  point 
she  could  not  tell  him,  though  she  said  Ginevra  was  again  at 
St.  Ursula.  Mounting  his  faithful  steed  Ettore  rode  on,  and 
over  the  bridge  to  the  island,  where  he  arrived  in  time  to  see 
the  body  of  his  beloved  lowered  into  an  open  tomb.  Zoraide  was 
sobbing  on  her  knees.  Ettore  said  not  a  single  word.  He  was 
as  rigid  and  as  pallid  as  the  corpse.  Remounting  his  charger 
he  dashed  into  the  night,  which  was  a  tempestuous  one.  No 
friend  of  Fieramosca,  no  living  soul  of  those  times  ever  saw 


MASSIMO   TAPARELLI   D'AZEGLIO  23 

him  afterward,  living  or  dead.  Some  poor  mountaineers  of 
Gargano,  who  were  tending  their  coal-pits,  related  to  the  peas- 
ants that  one  night  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  storm  they  had  seen  a 
strange  vision  of  an  armed  knight,  on  the  peaks  of  some  in- 
accessible rocks  that  overhung  a  steep  declivity  near  the  sea. 
At  first  a  few  only  reported  the  vision,  but  the  number  in- 
creased, and  at  last  the  whole  country  around  adopted  the 

firm  belief  it  was  the   archangel   St.  Michael In  the 

year  1616,  a  tract  of  rocky  seashore  under  Mt.  Gargano  had 
been  left  bare  by  the  retreating  of  the  sea.  A  fisherman  found 
lying  between  the  rocks  a  heap  of  iron,  almost  consumed  by  the 
marine  salt  and  by  rust,  and  underneath  he  found  human  bones 
and  the  carcass  of  a  horse.  The  reader  may  draw  his  own  con- 
clusions.    For  us,  our  story  is  done. 


IRVING  BACHELLER 

(United  States,  1859) 
EBEN  HOLDEN  (1900) 

This  is  the  first  of  Irving  Bacheller's  series  of  successful  novels.  Two 
tales  from  his  pen — The  Master  of  Silence  and  The  Unbidden  Guest — had  been 
published  previously,  but  they  had  attracted  comparatively  little  attention. 
Eben  Holdeti  was  begun  as  a  juvenile  story,  but  when  about  ten  chapters  had 
been  written  the  purpose  was  altered  and  it  was  recast  for  adult  readers.  The 
scenes  in  the  north  countrj'  described  in  this  novel  are,  many  of  them,  such  as 
were  familiar  in  fact  to  the  author's  boyhood;  and  many  of  the  characters  enter- 
ing into  the  story  were  at  least  suggested  by  persons  whom  he  had  actually 
known.  The  book  was  not  copyrighted  in  Great  E.itain,  its  great  popularity 
there  having  been  unforeseen  by  either  its  author  or  its  American  pubHsher,  the 
result  being  that  it  has  been  supplied  to  the  British  public  in  various  forms, 
from  editions  de  luxe  to  sixpenny  pamphlets.  Eben  Holden  was  dramatized  in 
1901.    We  present  here  the  author's  own  condensation  of  the  story. 

BEN  HOLDEN,  a  cheerful  old  bachelor  with 
a  rare  knack  of  story-telling,  had  worked  on  my 
father's  farm  in  northern  Vermont  since  long 
before  I  was  born.  When  I  was  a  lad  of  six  my 
parents  were  drowned,  leaving  me  the  only  sur- 
\'iving  member  of  the  family.  The  farm  was 
not  worth  the  mortgage,  and  everything  had  to  be 
sold.  Uncle  Eb,  as  I  had  learned  affectionately 
to  call  him,  wished  to  keep  me,  but  he  was  a 
farm-hand  without  any  home  or  visible  property,  and  not, 
therefore,  in  the  mind  of  the  authorities,  a  proper  guardian. 
Some  persons  were  for  sending  me  to  the  county  house,  but  it 
was  finally  decided  to  turn  me  over  to  the  care  of  a  dissolute 
imcle,  with  some  allowance  for  my  keep. 

The  night  before  they  were  to  take  me  from  the  old  home, 
Uncle  Eb  lifted  me  into  a  large  pack-basket,  to  the  rim  of  which 
he  had  tied  bundles  of  provisions,  and,  strapping  it  to  his 
shoulder,  set  out  afoot  in  the  darkness  in  a  westerly  direction. 

24 


IRVING   BACHELLER  25 

Traveling  thus  by  night  and  resting  in  concealment  by  day,  we 
journeyed  for  weeks,  with  no  particular  destination,  and  only 
the  one  immediate  purpose  in  Uncle  Eb's  mind  of  getting  beyond 
the  reach  of  those  who  would  have  taken  me  from  him. 

After  many  interesting  experiences  in  the  great  Adirondack 
forest,  wherein  Uncle  Eb's  wisdom,  courage,  and  knowledge  of 
woodcraft  were  repeatedly  tested,  we  one  night  took  refuge 
from  a  thunderstorm  in  an  old  cabin,  apparently  deserted. 
Here  we  first  met  "the  night  man,"  a  mysterious  person  of 
whom  I  was  to  learn  more  in  later  years.  At  first  he  angrily 
ordered  us  away,  but  Uncle  Eb  succeeded  finally  in  gaining  his 
friendship  and,  as  I  afterward  had  reason  to  believe,  in  tempting 
him  into  confidence  that  had  been  given  to  no  other  person. 

From  this  strange  man  we  learned  where  we  were.  "  Down 
the  hill  is  Paradise  Valley,  in  the  township  o'  Faraway,"  he 
told  us.  "It's  the  end  o'  Paradise  road,  an'  a  purty  country. 
Been  settled  a  long  time,  an'  the  farms  are  big  an'  prosperous — 
kind  uv  a  land  o'  plenty.  That  big  house  at  the  foot  o'  the  hill 
is  Dave  Brower's.     He's  the  richest  man  in  the  valley." 

In  the  morning  we  trudged  down  the  hill  to  Mr.  Brower's 
house.  As  we  turned  in  at  the  gate  a  barefooted  little  girl,  a 
bit  older  than  I,  with  red  cheeks  and  blue  eyes,  and  long  curly 
hair  that  shone  like  gold  in  the  sunhght,  came  running  out  to 
meet  us  and  led  me  up  to  the  doorstep,  while  Uncle  Eb  was 
talking  with  David  B rower.  Presently  Mr.  B rower  came  and 
lifted  me  by  the  shoulders,  high  above  his  head,  and  shook  me 
as  if  to  test  my  mettle.  Then  he  led  me  into  the  house  where 
his  wife  was  working. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  small  bit  of  a  boy  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  had  already  knelt  on  the  floor  and  put  her  arms  about 
my  neck  and  kissed  me. 

"Ain'  no  home,"  said  he.  "Come  all  the  way  from  Ver- 
mont with  an  ol'  man.  They're  worn  out,  both  uv  'em.  Guess 
we'd  better  take  'em  in  awhile." 

"Oh,  yes,  mother — ^please,  mother!"  put  in  the  little  girl, 
who  was  holding  my  hand.  "He  can  sleep  with  me.  Please 
let  him  stay." 

"David,"  said  the  woman,  "I  couldn't  turn  the  little  thing 
away.    Won't  ye  hand  me  those  cookies?" 


26  EBEN  HOLDEN 

And  so  our  life  in  Paradise  Valley  began.  In  ten  minutes 
I  was  playing  my  first  game  of  " I  spy"  with  little  Hope  Brower, 
among  the  fragrant  stocks  of  wheat  in  the  field  back  of  the 
garden. 

David  Brower  and  his  wife  had  settled  in  Paradise  Valley 
when  they  were  young,  and  had  seen  the  clearing  widen,  until 
now,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  were  the  neat  white  houses  of 
the  settlers.  Many  years  before  our  arrival  there  Nehemiah 
Brower,  their  eldest  child,  then  a  lad  of  sixteen,  had  killed  an- 
other boy  by  accident  and  run  away.  Some  time  later  word 
had  been  received  that  Nehemiah  had  been  drowned  on  his 
way  to  Van  Diemen's  Land.  There  was  a  wide-spread  super- 
stition in  the  valley  that  "  the  night  man,"  who  was  never  seen 
in  the  daylight,  but  whose  tall  form  was  often  observed  skulking 
in  the  dark,  was  the  ghost  of  the  boy  Nehemiah  had  killed. 

I  could  not  have  enjoyed  my  new  home  more  if  I  had  been 
born  in  it.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brower  were  all  that  a  father  and 
mother  could  be  to  me,  while  Hope  filled  the  place  of  sister  and 
playmate.  True,  she  sometimes  annoyed  me  by  too  effusive 
expressions  of  affection.  Once,  for  instance,  when  we  were 
going  to  mill  in  the  big  sled  with  Uncle  Eb,  she  embraced  me 
and  said  that  she  loved  me  very  much,  adding  that  when  we 
were  big  she  was  going  to  have  me  for  a  husband.  This 
embarrassed  me,  I  remember.  It  seemed  unmanly  to  be 
petted  like  a  doll. 

"  I  hate  to  be  kissed,"  I  said,  pulling  away  from  her,  at  which 
Uncle  Eb  laughed  heartily. 

The  day  came  when  I  would  have  given  half  my  life  for  the 
words  I  held  so  cheaply  then. 

It  was  Jed  Feary,  a  local  poet,  who  discovered  that  I  was 
not  likely  to  make  a  farmer.  When  I  was  still  a  little  chap  he 
called  Uncle  Eb's  attention  to  my  slender  hands,  and  said: 
"Folks  here  in  the  valley  think  o'  nuthin'  but  hard  work,  most 
uv  'em.  Toil  an'  slave  an'  scrimp  an'  save — thet's  about  all 
we  think  uv.  'Tain't  right,  Holden.  When  thet  boy  is  old 
enough  t'  take  care  uv  himself,  let  him  git  out  o'  this  country. 
I  tell  ye  he'll  never  make  a  farmer,  an'  if  he  marries  an'  settles 
down  here  he'll  git  t'  be  a  poet,  mebbe,  er  some  such  shif'less 
cuss,  an'  die  in  the  poorhouse." 


IRVING   BACHELLER  27 

"  Singular  man ! "  said  Uncle  Eb,  when  Feary  had  gone.  "But 
anyone  thet  picks  him  up  fer  a  fool  '11  find  him  a  counterfeit." 

In  time  others  came  to  believe  that  I  was  planned  by  nature 
for  something  besides  farm  work,  and  Mr.  Brower,  who  had 
now  become  father  in  name  as  well  as  in  fact,  decided  that  I 
should  have  a  good  education. 

The  winter  that  marked  the  end  of  my  fifteenth  year  was  a 
time  of  new  things.  Then  I  began  to  enjoy  the  finer  humors  of 
life  in  Faraway — to  see  with  understanding,  and  to  feel  the  in- 
finite in  the  ancient  forest,  in  the  everlasting  hills,  in  the  deep 
of  heaven,  in  all  the  ways  of  men. 

Hope  Brower  was  now  near  woman  grown,  with  a  beauty  of 
face  and  form  that  was  the  talk  of  the  countryside.  Of  late 
years  something  had  come  between  us.  Long  ago  we  had  fallen 
out  of  each  other's  confidence.  Uncle  Eb  had  once  told,  before 
company,  how  she  had  kissed  me  and  bespoken  me  for  a  hus- 
band that  day  in  the  big  sled,  and  while  the  others  laughed 
loudly,  she  had  gone  out  of  the  room  crying.  Ever  since  then 
she  had  seemed  to  shun  me. 

Uncle  Eb  one  day  suggested  that  I  invite  her  to  an  entertain- 
ment at  the  schoolhouse  that  night. 

I  took  his  advice.  She  looked  at  me,  blushing,  and  said  she 
would  ask  her  mother.  She  did,  and  we  walked  to  the  school- 
house  together,  her  hand  holding  my  arm,  timidly,  the  most 
serious  pair  that  ever  struggled  with  the  problems  of  deport- 
ment on  such  an  occasion.  On  the  way  home  she  asked  me 
what  part  of  the  entertainment  I  enjoyed  most. 

"  Your  company,"  I  said,  with  a  fine  air  of  gallantry. 

"Honestly?" 

"Honestly.  I  want  to  take  you  to  a  dance  at  Rickard's 
some  time." 

"Maybe  I  won't  let  you,"  she  said. 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"  You'd  better  ask  me  some  time  and  see." 

"I  shall.     I  wouldn't  ask  any  other  girl." 

How  far  my  aroused  courage  might  have  carried  me  I  can- 
not say.     We  were  interrupted  by  a  woman  who  overtook  us. 

The  next  autumn  Hope,  who  had  a  fine  voice,  went  away  to 
study  music,  and  I  to  the  academy  at  Hillsboro. 


28  EBEN  HOLDEN 

In  the  spring  we  had  returned  and  were  in  the  garden,  the 
playground  of  our  childhood,  when  I  confessed  my  love.  A 
flood  of  color  came  into  her  cheeks,  as  she  stood  a  moment 
looking  down  in  silence. 

"I  shall  keep  your  secret,"  she  said  tenderly,  "and  when 
you  are  through  college — and  you  are  older — and  I  am  older — 
and  you  love  me  as  you  do  now — I  hope — I  shall  love  you,  too — 
as — ^I  do  now."  After  a  moment  she  added:  "Do  not  speak 
of  it  again  until  we  are  older,  and,  if  you  never  speak  again,  I 
shall  know  you — ^you  do  not  love  me  any  longer." 

In  my  second  year  at  college  Hope  went  away  to  continue 
her  studies  in  New  York.  She  was  to  live  in  the  family  of 
John  Fuller,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Brower,  who  had  left  Faraway 
years  before  and  made  his  fortune  in  the  big  city.  The  evening 
before  she  was  to  go  Uncle  Eb  slyly  beckoned  her  and  me  into  his 
room,  and,  counting  a  hundred  dollars  from  a  great  roll  which  he 
took  from  his  trunk,  handed  it  to  Hope,  saying:  "Put  thet  away 
in  yer  wallet.     Might  come  handy  when  ye're  away  f'm  hum." 

She  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"Put  it  'n  yer  wallet  an'  say  nuthin'— not  a  word  t'  no- 
body," he  said. 

Then  he  counted  over  a  like  amount  for  me. 

After  my  graduation  at  college,  Uncle  Eb  and  I  took  the 
train  for  New  York  one  summer  day  in  i860.  I  was  leaving  to 
seek  my  fortune  in  the  big  city;  Uncle  Eb  was  off  for  a  holiday, 
and  to  see  Hope  and  bring  her  home  for  a  short  visit.  She  was 
now  very  busy  with  her  studies  and  with  her  singing  in  a 
fashionable  church.  Besides,  Mrs.  Fuller,  as  I  had  learned, 
had  taken  her  a  good  deal  into  society  and  encouraged  a  certain 
wealthy  young  man  named  Livingstone  to  pay  much  attention  to 
her.  I  had  lost  hope  of  winning  her,  but  as  we  sped  on  Uncle 
Eb  encouraged  me. 

David  Brower  and  Horace  Greeley  had  been  playmates  in 
their  boyhood,  and  I  had  a  letter  in  my  pocket  from  my  adopted 
father  to  the  great  editor.  When  Mr.  Greeley  had  read  it  and 
asked  me  many  questions  about  its  writer,  I  told  him  that  I 
wanted  to  work  on  the  Tribune. 

"Well,"  said  he,  turning  back  to  his  desk,  "go  and  write  me 
an  article  about  rats." 


IRVING   BACHELLER  29 

"Would  you  advise — "  I  began,  when  he  interrupted  me. 

"The  man  that  gives  advice  is  a  bigger  fool  than  the  man 
that  takes  it.     Go  and  do  your  best." 

The  thought  of  rats  suggested  ships  and  v^^harves  and 
sewers,  so  I  went  down  to  the  water-front.  There  I  met  a  big, 
good-natured  Irish  policeman,  who  went  about  with  me  and  did 
not  leave  me  until  I  was  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Fuller's,  loaded 
with  fact  and  fable  and  good  dialect  with  a  flavor  of  the  sea  in  it. 

Uncle  Eb  and  Hope  expressed  great  pleasure  when  I  told 
them  I  had  a  job  on  the  Tribune.  I  was  for  going  at  once  to 
write  my  article,  but  Hope  said  it  was  time  to  be  getting  ready 
for  dinner. 

At  that  elaborate  meal  I  met  many  handsome  men  and 
women,  among  them  Mr.  Livingstone  and  a  Mr.  John  Trum- 
bull, the  latter  a  big,  full-bearded  man  who,  as  I  learned,  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  family  by  snatching  Hope  from 
under  a  horse's  feet  and  saving  her  life. 

"Seems  as  if  it  were  fate,"  said  Hope.  "I  had  seen  him  so 
often  and  wondered  who  he  was." 

After  dinner  Uncle  Eb  and  John  Trumbull  went  to  the 
smoking-room,  where  I  found  them  talking  earnestly  in  a  corner. 
Mrs.  Fuller  afterward  told  me  that  Mr.  Trumbull  was  a  specu- 
lator. "  A  strange  man,"  she  added,  "  successful,  silent,  and,  I 
think,  in  love." 

That  evening  Hope  and  I  had  a  few  moments  together  in  a 
corner  of  the  large  parlor.  "I've  heard  how  well  you  did  last 
year,"  she  said,  "and  how  nice  you  were  to  the  girls.  A  friend 
of  mine  wrote  me  all  about  it.  How  attentive  you  were  to  that 
little  Miss  Brown!" 

"Only  decently  polite,"  I  answered.  "One  has  to  have 
somebody  or — or — be  a  monk." 

"One  has  to  have  somebody!"  she  said  quickly,  as  she 
picked  at  the  flower  on  her  bosom  and  looked  down  at  it  soberly. 
"That  is  true — one  has  to  have  somebody,  and,  you  know,  I 
haven't  had  any  lack  of  company  myself.  By  the  way,  I  have 
news  to  tell  you.  I  am  going  to  England  with  Mrs.  Fuller."  A 
moment  later  she  said :     "  My  friend  writes  that  you  are  in  love." 

"She  is  right,"  I  said.  "I  am  madly,  hopelessly  in  love. 
It  is  time  yOu  knew  it,  Hope,  and  I  want  your  counsel." 


30  EBEN  HOLDEN 

She  rose  quickly  and  turned  her  face  away.  "Do  not  tell 
me!"  she  said  coldly.  "Do  not  speak  of  it  again.  I  forbid 
you!" 

Before  I  could  speak  Mrs.  Fuller  had  come  through  the  door- 
way. "Come,  Hope,"  she  said,  "I  cannot  let  you  sit  up  late. 
You  are  worn  out,  my  dear." 

That  night  Uncle  Eb  came  to  my  room,  and  I  told  him  that 
Hope  didn't  care  for  me. 

"Don't  believe  it,"  he  answered  calmly.  "Thet  woman — 
she's  tryin'  t'  keep  her  away  from  ye,  but  'twon't  make  no 
differ'nce.     Not  a  bit." 

"Hope  has  got  too  far  ahead  of  we,"  I  said.  "She  can 
marry  a  rich  man  if  she  wishes  to,  and  I  don't  see  why  she 
shouldn't." 

"There's  things  goin'  t'  happen,"  Uncle  Eb  whispered.  "I 
can't  tell  ye  what  er  when,  but  they're  goin'  t'  happen  an' 
they're  goin'  t'  change  everything." 

Instead  of  going  home  with  Uncle  Eb,  Hope  went  first  to 
Saratoga,  and  then  abroad  with  Mrs.  Fuller. 

When  my  article  was  written  I  took  it  to  Mr.  Greeley,  who 
instructed  his  city  editor  to  read  it  and,  if  it  were  well  done, 
to  give  me  a  place  on  the  Tribmie  staff.  The  city  editor  gave  me 
little  encouragement,  saying  the  staff  was  full,  but  he  took  my 
address  and  said  I  would  hear  from  him  when  he  wanted  me.  I 
never  heard  from  him. 

That  evening  I  chanced  to  meet  Mr.  Trumbull,  and  we  took 
a  long  walk  together. 

"Come!"  said  he,  after  a  silence,  "talk  to  me.  Tell  me — 
what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

I  told  him  of  my  plans,  so  far  as  they  had  matured. 

"You  love  Hope,"  he  said.     "You  will  marry  her?" 

"If  she  will  have  me,"  I  answered. 

"You  must  wait,"  he  said.     "Time  enough!" 

I  was  soon  nearly  out  of  money  and  at  my  wits'  end.  In  this 
plight  I  ran  upon  Fogarty,  the  policeman  who  had  been  the 
good  angel  of  my  one  hopeful  day  in  journalism.  His  manner 
invited  my  confidence,  and  I  told  him  I  needed  work — any  kind 
of  honest  work.  He  led  me  to  a  gang  of  Irishmen  working  in  the 
street  near  by  and  induced  the  boss  to  give  me  work.     I  began 


IRVING   BACHELLER  31 

next  morning.  We  were  paving  Park  Place,  and  presently  I 
saw  Mr.  Greeley  standing  near  and  looking  down  at  me. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you'd  rather  work  than  beg  or 
borrow?"  he  said,  after  beckoning  me  to  him. 

"That's  about  it,"  I  answered. 

"And  ain't  ashamed  of  it?" 

"Ashamed!  Why?"  said  I,  not  quite  sure  of  his  meaning, 
for  I  had  learned  that  all  work  was  honorable. 

"I  guess  you'll  do  for  the  Tribune,"  he  laughed.  "Come 
and  see  me  at  twelve  to-morrow."  He  gave  me  a  place  on  the 
local  staff  and  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at  his  home  that 
evening. 

In  the  course  of  my  duty  I  went  to  report  the  ball  given  m 
honor  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  There 
I  saw  Mrs.  Fuller  in  one  of  the  boxes,  and  made  haste  to  speak 
with  her.  She  had  just  landed,  having  left  Hope  to  study  for  a 
time  in  the  Conservatory  at  Leipsic. 

"Mrs.  Livingstone  is  with  her,"  said  she,  "and  they  will 
return  together  in  April." 

"Mrs.  Fuller,  did  she  send  any  word  to  me?"  I  inquired 
anxiously.     "Did  she  give  you  no  message?" 

"None,"  she  said  coldly,  "except  one  to  her  mother  and 
father,  which  I  have  sent  in  a  letter  to  them." 

In  1 86 1  I  resigned  from  the  Tribune  and  went  to  the  war. 
At  Washington  I  received  a  letter  from  Uncle  Eb  informing  me 
that  Hope,  in  one  of  her  recent  letters,  had  said  she  had  not 
heard  from  me,  but  had  heard  from  somebody  else  that  I  was 
going  to  be  married.  "You  had  oughter  write  her  a  letter. 
Bill,"  Uncle  Eb  wrote.  "Looks  to  me  so  you  haint  used  her 
right.     She's  a-comin'  hum  in  July." 

I  wrote  immediately  to  Uncle  Eb,  telling  him  of  the  letters 
I  had  sent  to  Hope,  and  of  my  effort  to  see  her. 

I  went  to  the  war  in  despair,  and  was  badly  wounded  in  the 
battle  of  Bull  Run,  and  left  on  the  field.  Far  into  the  night  I 
lay  near  to  death.  Then  I  heard  a  voice  calling  my  name  again 
and  again,  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  I  answered  with  a 
feeble  cry,  and  presently  a  mighty  man  had  picked  me  up  and 
was  making  off.  The  jolt  of  his  step  seemed  to  be  breaking 
my  arms  at  the  shoulder.     Fainter  and  fainter  I  grew,  until  my 


32  EBEN  HOLDEN 

own  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  me:  "My  God!  this  is  no  man. 
This  is  Death  severing  the  soul  from  the  body."  From  then 
till  I  came  to  myself  in  the  little  church  at  Centreville  I  remem- 
ber nothing.  In  a  few  weeks  I  was  removed  to  Washington, 
where  I  soon  recovered  my  strength  and  set  out  for  home. 

When  I  arrived  at  Jersey  City,  Uncle  Eb  was  there  to  meet 
me.  As  I  was  greeting  him  I  heard  a  lively  rustle  of  skirts. 
Two  dainty  gloved  hands  laid  hold  of  mine;  a  sweet  voice 
spoke  my  name.  There,  beside  me,  stood  the  tall,  erect  figure 
of  Hope.  Our  eyes  met,  and,  before  there  was  any  thinking  of 
propriety,  I  had  her  in  my  arms  and  was  kissing  her  and  she  was 
kissing  me. 

Explanations  followed  later.  She  had  not  received  my 
letters,  as  I  suspected.  Mrs.  Fuller  had  wished  her  to  marry 
young  Livingstone.  "But  for  Uncle  Eb,"  she  said,  "I  think  I 
should  have  done  so,  for  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  you." 

We  went  to  an  inn,  and  late  that  night  when  we  wakened 
Uncle  Eb  and  told  him  that  we  were  to  be  man  and  wife,  he 
said :  "  You  go  into  the  other  room  and  wait  a  minute,  and  I'll 
put  on  my  clothes  an'  then  you'll  hear  me  talk  some  conversa- 
tion." 

As  we  neared  home  in  the  north  country,  Uncle  Eb  told  us 
that  David  Brower  had  recently  lost  a  large  sum  of  money  in 
speculation  and  was  low  in  spirits,  but  that  he  would  soon  rise 
again.  The  following  Christmas  Eve  we  learned  what  he  meant. 
David  and  Elizabeth  Brower  were  facing  the  prospect  of  losing 
their  home  with  pathetic  bravery  when  Uncle  Eb  handed 
them  a  check  for  twenty  thousand  dollars,  saying  it  was  from 
their  son  Nehemiah. 

"Why,  Nehemiah  is  dead,"  said  David. 

Then  Uncle  Eb  opened  the  door  and  a  tall,  bearded  man 
came  in. 

"Mr.  Trumbull!"  Hope  exclaimed,  rising. 

"David  an'  Elizabeth  Brower,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "the  dead 
has  come  to  life.     I  give  ye  back  yer  son — Nehemiah." 

Nehemiah,  whom  I  had  known  as  John  Trumbull,  sat 
between  his  father  and  mother,  holding  a  hand  of  each,  telling 
his  story  far  into  the  night.  When  he  was  a  mere  boy  he  had 
accidentally  shot  another  boy  with  an  old  gun  which  he  sup- 


IRVING   BACHELLER  33 

posed  was  not  loaded.  He  had  often  quarreled  with  that  boy, 
and  some  thought  he  had  killed  him  purposely,  so,  to  escape 
arrest,  he  ran  away  and  went  to  sea.  Near  Van  Diemen's  Land 
a  shipmate  was  washed  overboard  and  drowned.  Nehemiah 
placed  a  letter  in  the  drowned  man's  box,  saying  his  real  name 
was  Nehemiah  Brower,  son  of  David  Brower,  of  Faraway, 
New  York,  and  the  captain  wrote  to  Mr.  Brower  that  his  son 
was  dead.  Six  years  later  Nehemiah  sailed  into  the  harbor  of 
Quebec,  and  the  desire  to  see  those  he  loved  had  tempted  him 
to  Paradise  Valley.  Here  he  concealed  himself  in  the  woods  by 
day,  coming  out  at  night  to  watch  over  the  old  home  and  occa- 
sionally to  peep  through  a  window  at  his  friends. 

"  I  made  my  home  in  a  concealed  cave,"  he  went  on ;  "  caught 
a  cub  panther  and  a  baby  coon.  They  grew  up  with  me  there 
and  were  the  only  friends  I  had,  except  Uncle  Eb." 

"Uncle  Eb!"  I  exclaimed. 

"You  know  how  I  met  him,"  Nehemiah  continued,  address- 
ing me.  "  You  were  not  as  big  and  heavy  then  as  you  were  the 
night  I  carried  you  from  Bull  Run  battle-field.  Well,  Uncle 
Eb  won  my  confidence  that  night  in  the  old  cabin,  and  I  told 
him  my  history.  Ever  since  that  he  has  been  my  friend,  guide, 
and  helper.  But  for  him  I  should  have  gone  crazy  in  my  lone- 
liness. Indeed,  I  was  half  crazy  when  he  urged  me  to  go  out 
among  men  and  gave  me  a  thousand  dollars  to  start  me  in  bus- 
iness. I  walked  through  the  woods  to  Utica,  where  I  bought 
fashionable  clothing,  and  went  to  New  York.  You  know 
the  rest,  save  that  my  introduction  to  Hope  was  not  so 
accidental  as  it  seemed.  I  had  long  kept  pretty  close  watch 
over  her." 

"I  declare!"  said  he,  beaming  down  upon  David  and 
Elizabeth  Brower.  "In  all  my  born  days  I  never  see  sech  fun. 
It's  tree-menjious,  I  tell  ye.  Them  'et  takes  care  uv  others'll 
be  took  care  uv — 'less  they  do  it  o'  purpose." 

"Three  cheers  for  Uncle  Eb!"  I  demanded.  And  we  gave 
them. 

Hope  and  I  were  married,  and  made  our  home  in  the  great 
city,  whence  every  summer  we  return  to  the  old  fireside  and  sit 
by  the  graves  of  those  we  loved  and  think  of  the  last  words  of 
Uncle  Eb,  now  cut  in  marble: 

A.  D.,  VOL.  n. —  3 


34  EBEN  HOLDEN 

/  ain't  afraid. 

'Shamed  o'  nuthin'  I  ever  done. 

Allwas  kep'  my  tugs  light, 

Never  swore  'less  'twas  necessary, 

Never  ketched  a  fish  bigger' n  'twas 

Er  lied  in  a  hoss  trade 

Er  shed  a  tear  I  didn't  hev  to. 

Never  cheated  anybody  but  Eben  Holden. 

Coin'  off  somewhercs  Bill — dunno  the  way  nuther. 

Dunno  if  it's  east  er  west  er  north  er  south 

Er  road  er  trail 

But  I  ain't  afraid. 


WOLCOTT  BALESTIER 

(United  States,  1861-1891) 
BENEFITS  FORGOT  (1892) 

This  story,  completed  the  year  before  its  writer's  death,  and  published 
the  year  following  this  event,  appearing  first  serially  in  the  Century  Magazine, 
was  the  result  of  Mr.  Balcstier's  study  of  Leadville,  Colorado,  visited  by  him  in 
1885.  Two  years  earlier  he  had  made  a  brief  sojourn  in  this  portion  of  Colorado, 
which  had  profoundly  impressed  his  imagination;  at  this  time  the  air  in  this 
vicinity  proved  too  bracing  for  him,  and  he  made  but  a  short  stay.  His 
second  trip,  made  in  the  company  of  his  sister,  lasted  many  months,  and 
the  glimpses  of  the  strange  life  of  the  West  remained,  to  the  end  of  this 
author's  career,  the  most  vivid  and  exciting  which  his  memory  contained. 
At  this  time  Mr.  Balcstier  was  more  than  ever  inspired  with  the  desire  to 
write  earnestly,  and  it  was  in  Colorado  that  the  first  crude  sketch  was  made 
for  a  book,  which  was  afterward  rewritten  as  Benefits  Forgot.  This  novel, 
born  in  the  mining-camps  of  Colorado,  was  completed  in  the  congenial  atmos- 
phere of  the  Old  World,  where  the  writer  spent  his  final  years. 

AMES  DEED'S  wedding-day  dawned,  and  as 
his  eyes  measured  the  crisp  and  sparkHng  Colo- 
rado morning  he  had  the  pleasant  feeling  that 
the  sun  was  shining  especially  for  him.  In  a 
few  hours  he  was  to  marry  Margaret  Derwenter, 
the  woman  of  his  choice,  and  his  heart  was  over- 
flowing with  joy  and  happiness.  Up  to  this 
time  his  life  had  been  one  of  many  vicissitudes, 
and  he  looked  forward  to  his  coming  marriage 
with  unspeakable  joy  and  satisfaction. 

Ten  years  earlier,  he  had  left  New  York  with  his  two 
motherless  boys,  broken-hearted  at  the  death  of  his  wife,  whom 
he  had  devotedly  loved,  and  shattered  in  health.  He  had  felt 
no  incentive  to  live  when  he  was  forced  to  leave  his  home  and 
seek  a  new  and  strange  habitation  in  the  West;  but  gradually 
the  lethargy  of  sorrow  and  ill  health  fell  from  him  and  he 
became  himself  again.    He  resumed  his  practise  of  law  m  the 

35 


36  BENEFITS   FORGOT 

town  of  Maverick,  and  also  entered  into  the  mining  interests 
of  the  new  country,  which  eventually  brought  him  satisfactory 
returns.  Deed  was  an  indulgent  father  to  his  boys,  and  en- 
deavored to  make  up  to  them  by  his  affection  for  the  loss  they 
had  sustained.  He  was  kind  and  generous  to  a  fault,  but  had 
a  quick  temper,  which,  when  aroused,  would  carry  him  beyond 
reason  or  justice.  Upon  reaching  manhood,  Jasper,  the  elder 
of  Deed's  two  sons,  who  had  always  shown  much  sagacity  and 
business  ability,  was  placed  by  his  father  in  charge  of  his  large 
ranch,  valued  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  This 
he  managed  with  most  gratifying  results,  much  to  the  pride 
and  satisfaction  of  his  father,  who  took  him  into  partnership 
and  for  the  term  of  five  years  put  into  his  hands  his  brother 
Philip's  share  of  the  ranch.  Jasper  suggested  the  making  of  a 
written  deed  bf  the  property  to  himself,  to  which  his  father, 
who  had  full  confidence  in  him,  willingly  consented,  feeling 
sure  that  his  brother's  interests  would  be  to  him  as  his  own. 
However,  when  Deed  was  on  the  point  of  remarrying,  he  felt 
it  best  to  have  his  sons  equally  provided  for,  and  wrote  to 
Jasper,  who  was  temporarily  absent,  asking  him  to  make 
over  to  Philip  his  share  of  the  property. 

To  his  horror  and  amazement,  upon  the  morning  of  his 
marriage  he  received  a  letter  from  Jasper  refusing  to  relinquish 
what  he  had  unfairly  gained,  and  Deed's  eyes  were  opened 
to  the  perfidy  of  his  son's  real  character. 

Filled  with  rage  and  disappointment,  his  one  desire  was  to 
avenge  this  wrong,  no  matter  what  the  cost  might  be.  He 
determined  to  sell  the  ranch  for  the  paltry  sum  of  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  order  to  ruin  Jasper,  not  stopping  to 
consider  how  the  transaction  would  affect  either  Philip  or 
himself. 

He  went  to  Margaret  Derwenter,  while  in  this  vengeful 
mood,  and  told  her  what  he  intended  to  do.  She  tried  in 
every  way  to  set  the  matter  before  him  in  its  true  light  and 
endeavored  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose,  but  he  was  so  full 
of  wrath  that  he  would  not  listen  to  reason. 

"James!  James!"  begged  Margaret,  "consider  the  life 
of  remorse  you  are  condemning  yourself  to.  Distrust  the 
false  passion  and  pride  that  tells  you  you  are  right  now.    You 


WOLCOTT   BALESTIER  37 

are  wrong!  Listen  to  me,  who  have  nothing  to  gain  by  tclUng 
you  so.     You  are  wrong." 

"Have  I  not  the  right  to  make  him  suffer  as  I  suffer?"  he 
asked  coldly.    "The  thing's  done,  I  tell  you." 

He  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  but  she  called — 

"James!" 

"Well?" 

"You  must  not."  She  caught  her  breath,  and  sat  hastily 
upon  the  sofa. 

"Pshaw!" 

"  I  tell  you,  you  must  not.  I  will  not  have  it.  I  have  my 
rights,  as  well  as  you;  my  rights  as  your  wife  to  be.  I  will 
not  have  your  property — my  property — thrown  away  for  a 
whim." 

He  came  toward  her  quickly.  She  shrank  involuntarily. 
Her  face  was  white;   she  set  her  teeth. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  " 

She  nodded  painfully. 

"It  would  have  been  simpler  to  say  so  in  the  beginning — 
not  to  say  honester,"  he  said,  with  slow  bitterness.  "You  might 
have  spared  me  the  pain  of  knowing  that  you  could  promise 
to  give  it  all  up,  when  you  thought  yourself  secure  from  being 
held  to  your  word.    You  might  have  saved  your  sermons." 

It  was  like  the  agony  of  death  to  hear  these  things  from  him; 
but  she  shut  her  lips,  and  bore  it.  If  she  spoke  now,  she  knew 
that  her  tone  must  belie  her  words. 

"A  moment  ago  you  said,"  he  went  on  coldly,  "that  you 
had  nothing  to  gain.  Pardon  me  if  I  say  that  you  seem  to  have 
had  much.  It  may  make  you  sleep  easier  to-night,  if  I  tell 
you  that  you  have  gained  it." 

He  put  his  hands  to  his  head  in  bewilderment,  caught  up 
his  hat,  and,  without  a  glance  at  her,  left  the  room  not  to  return. 

Margaret,  who  was  a  woman  of  noble  character,  knew 
that  this  frenzied  condition  was  caused  by  grief  and  disappoint- 
ment; and,  though  deserted  upon  her  wedding-day,  she  re- 
mained true  to  the  man  she  loved. 

Philip,  meanwhile,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  state  of  affairs, 
set  out  from  an  adjacent  town,  where  he  had  been  engaged  in 
working  two  mines  which  belonged  to  Jasper  and  himself,  in 


38  BENEFITS   FORGOT 

order  to  be  present  at  his  father's  wedding.  He  was  accom- 
panied on  this  trip  by  his  friend  Lenox  Cutter,  a  New  York 
man  of  rich  and  influential  antecedents,  who  had  sought  the 
West  in  order  to  try  to  forget  the  girl  whom  he  had  loved  for 
years  and  who  had  refused  him. 

The  line  of  travel,  which  the  men  took  on  horseback, 
included  a  mountain-pass,  and  while  in  this  dangerous  locaHty 
they  were  overtaken  by  a  heavy  snow-storm  which  made  their 
progress  almost  impossible.  They  came  up  with  another 
party,  caught  in  the  same  predicament,  which  included  a 
young  girl  who  was  already  overcome  by  cold  and  exhaustion. 
Deed  and  Cutter  aided  in  restoring  her  to  consciousness,  and 
led  the  way  to  a  cave,  with  the  location  of  which  they  were 
familiar,  and  which  afforded  them  protection  from  the  storm. 
The  members  of  the  rescued  party  were  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Maurice,  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  his  daughter  Dorothy,  a 
beautiful  girl,  and  Richard  Messiter,  a  friend  and  admirer  of 
the  young  woman.  Their  journey  proved  to  have  been  a 
compulsory  one,  as  Mr.  Maurice,  who  had  made  himself  un- 
popular as  a  pastor  by  refusing  to  read  the  burial  service  for 
two  miners  who  had  died  of  smallpox,  had  been  run  out  of 
the  town  where  he  had  been  living.  Dorothy,  who  was  in  igno- 
rance of  the  cause  of  their  sudden  departure,  maintained  great 
admiration  and  respect  for  her  father,  who  had  a  pleasant 
personality  in  spite  of  his  weak  character.  In  course  of  time 
the  snow-bound  party  were  able  to  continue  their  journey, 
and  they  reached  their  destination,  Maverick,  where  Philip  was 
greeted  with  the  news  regarding  his  father's  postponed 
marriage. 

He  at  once  sought  out  his  father,  with  whom  he  had  a 
stormy  interview,  as  the  latter  failed  to  understand  his  son's 
sympathetic  attitude,  and  saw  in  his  remarks  only  veiled  re- 
sentment for  the  wrong  that  had  been  done  him. 

"Say  it,  Phil!  Say  it!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  " Don't  sit  there 
dumb.  I  know  what  you  think.  You're  right.  I  sold  you 
out.  I  signed  away  your  rights.  I  did  you  out  of  your  future 
with  a  foolish,  amiable  stroke  of  the  pen.  I  trusted  a  scoundrel, 
and  you've  to  pay  for  it.  I  wanted  to  do  the  handsome  thing 
by  Jasper,  and  I  did  it  at  your  expense.    It's  been  your  treat 


WOLCOTT   BALESTIER  39 

all  along,  Phil,"  he  said  with  a  miserable  smile,  "though  you 
didn't  know  it." 

Philip  leaped  up.  "Great  heaven,  father!  you  haven't 
been  thinking  that  I  was  shouting  around  about  my  miserable 
little  share  in  that  business?  Surely  you  don't  think  that  I 
could  name  it  beside  your  trouble,  much  less  be  fooling  with 
the  poor  question  of  blame  ?  I  should  think  Jasper  was  enough 
to  blame  for  half  a  dozen." 

His  father  smiled  sadly.  "What  Jasper  has  done  cannot 
excuse  me.  He  couldn't  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't  thrown  the 
way  open  to  him — if  I  hadn't  trusted  him." 

"Wouldn't  a  father  trust  his  own  son,  I  should  like  to 
know?    Is  it  a  thing  he  must  answer  for?" 

"My  God,  Phil!  hasn't  he  answered  for  it — isn't  he  answer- 
ing for  it,  will  he  ever  get  to  the  end  of  answering  for  it?"  He 
covered  his  eyes. 

"I  know,  father,"  said  Philip,  taking  a  turn  across  the 
room.    "  Ingratitude  is  like  that.    It  hurts — it  keeps  on  hurting." 

"Yes,"  owned  Deed  grimly,  "it  hurts." 

"Surely  it's  enough,  then.  Pray  don't  bother  about  me. 
You  would  have  done  it  for  me  in  the  same  situation.  Do 
you  think  I  don't  know  that  I  never  gave  you  the  chance? 
I've  not  been  doing  the  approved  thing.  I  never  have.  When 
I  do,  it  will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  trot  out  my  grievance," 

"  Oh,  Phil,  I've  not  been  fair  to  you!"  It  was  the  expression 
of  his  sense  of  his  whole  course  toward  him  from  boyhood; 
but  Philip  took  it  to  refer  to  the  contract.  "Pshaw,  father!  I 
shall  rub  along  for  the  few  years  left  of  the  partnership.  What 
difference  can  it  make?  I  shall  be  the  better  for  having  to 
make  my  own  way  for  a  while." 

Philip,  like  Margaret,  failed  to  make  Deed  see  what  moral 
injury  he  was  doing  himself  by  repaying  one  wrong  with 
another,  the  father  persistently  remaining  blind  and  obdurate, 

"Phil!"  he  cried  miserably,  "you're  not  going  back  on  me!" 

"Going  back  on  you,  father?"  Philip  snatched  the  hand 
hanging  by  his  side.  "I'm  trying  to  save  you.  You're  letting 
yourself  in  for  a  lifetime  of  remorse.  You'll  kick  yourself  for 
this  thing  before  you  are  a  week  older.  Think,  father!  Can 
you  afford  to  do  a  wrong  like  this  to  Jasper  ?    Where  will  there 


40  BENEFITS  FORGOT 

ever  be  an  end  to  it  ?  'Twill  make  you  unhappy,  father.  That's 
what  I'm  thinking  of.  And  the  unhappiest  part  of  the  whole 
business  will  be  when  you  see  that  after  all  it  wasn't  fair." 

"Fair!"  cried  his  father  hoarsely.  "Fair!  Oh,  the  devil!" 
He  sat  down,  clenching  his  hands.    The  blood  rose  in  his  face. 

"Did  you  wish  to  be  unfair?" 

"Yes!"  shouted  Deed.  "Yes!  I  wish  to  be  all  that  you 
imply!    I  wish  to  be  unfair  to  both  of  you." 

"Both  of  us!"  exclaimed  Philip,  turning  pale. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  think;  I  wish  to  be  unfair  to  Jasper, 
and  to  do  it  I  must  be  doubly  unfair  to  you,  and  I  didn't  care. 
You  don't  say  it.    You  talk  of  Jasper." 

"Father,  can  you  think — " 

"Yes,  more  than  you  say." 

Philip  grew  white  about  the  nostrils.  "I  have  said  all  that 
I  mean.  I  say  it's  shabby  to  freeze  Jasper  out  in  his  absence; 
I  say  that  you  are  free  to  use  whatever  share  I  may  claim  in  the 
range  as  you  like.  But  not  for  that.  I  won't  be  a  party  to  it. 
I  won't  stand  by  and  see  you  do  such  a  wrong  to  yourself." 

"Say  what  you  mean,"  cried  his  father,  with  an  implication 
in  his  voice  which  maddened  Philip  beyond  control. 

"Father!"  he  cried  warningly. 

Deed  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and,  facing  him 
with  deliberate  bitterness,  looked  into  his  eyes.  "I  will  pay  you 
every  penny  of  your  damned  fifty  thousand  dollars  before  you 
are  twenty-four  hours  older." 

For  a  moment  Philip  stared  at  his  father  in  speechless  anger. 
Then  with  a  cry  of  rage  he  burst  from  the  room. 

In  leaving  the  hotel  Philip  came  face  to  face  with  Margaret, 
whom  he  saw  for  the  first  time,  and  who  was  on  her  way  to 
seek  the  man  that  had  treated  her  so  cruelly. 

Since  Deed's  desertion  of  her  on  her  wedding-day,  Margaret 
had  endured  much  suffering,  both  mental  and  physical,  and 
had  been  administered  to  by  her  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ventner, 
with  whom  she  was  staying,  and  by  Dr.  Ernfield,  who  was 
deeply  in  love  with  her,  although  he  realized  the  hopelessness 
of  his  suit. 

Ernfield  was  a  consumptive  and  a  forced  exile  from  his 
home  in  the  East,  where  he  had  been  doing  brilliant  work  in 


WOI.COTT   BALESTIER  41 

his  profession  until  obliged  to  seek  another  chmate  in  search 
of  health. 

Margaret  was  utterly  unaware  of  Ernfield's  feelings  toward 
her,  which  he  endeavored  to  hide  as  much  as  possible.  On 
one  occasion,  however,  during  a  horseback  ride,  Ernfield  told 
Margaret  of  his  love,  and  this  declaration  was  such  a  shock  to 
her  that  it  made  her  long  for  Deed's  protection. 

She  realized  that  her  recreant  lover  could  not  return  to  her 
under  the  circumstances,  and  accordingly  she  decided  that  she 
would  go  to  him.  This  was  a  tremendous  decision  for  one  of 
Margaret's  retiring  nature  and  New  England  traditions,  but 
when  the  matter  was  once  settled  in  her  own  mind  she  did  not 
falter.  She  quietly  packed  her  belongings  and  went  to  the 
man  who  needed  her  so  sorely. 

She  found  Deed  plunged  in  misery  as  the  result  of  the  course 
he  had  taken,  and  crushed  with  sorrow  at  the  thought  that  both 
sons  were  lost  to  him,  and  Margaret  as  well.  Deed  was  over- 
whelmed by  Margaret's  generous  behavior,  and  he  and  she 
were  married  immediately  and  went  away  at  once,  leaving 
their  whereabouts  unknown. 

Before  departing  Deed  had  placed  the  $50,000  to  Philip's 
credit  in  the  bank,  and  in  order  to  do  this  had  drawn  upon 
some  trust  funds  that  were  in  his  keeping.  He  felt  justified  in 
doing  this,  as  he  planned  to  sell  the  Lady  Bountiful  mine 
to  some  men  in  Burro  Peak  City,  who  had  offered  him  $60,000 
for  it.  In  order  to  reach  these  purchasers  he  must  take  a  four 
days'  horseback  journey,  as  they  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
railway  or  telegraph,  so  Deed's  wedding-trip  was  taken  in  that 
direction. 

After  his  father's  departure  Philip  discovered  what  he  had 
done,  and  immediately  drew  the  money  and  deposited  it  to 
his  father's  account. 

Jasper  meanwhile  had  returned  home,  and  was  overcome 
with  rage  when  he  was  informed  by  Snell,  the  new  owner  of 
the  ranch,  that  the  property  was  no  longer  his. 

He  immediately  sought  an  interview  with  Philip,  who  was 
at  work  in  his  mine,  and  a  stormy  scene  ensued,  in  the  course 
of  which  Jasper  exclaimed : 

"You  thought  I  wouldn't  see  through  this  thing — you  and 


42  BENEFITS   FORGOT 

father — did  you?  You  must  have  taken  me  for  a  bat.  Why, 
you'd  see  through  it  yourself — ^yes,  even  you,  my  helpless, 
pottering  brother,  who  don't  know  as  much  of  business  in  a 
year  as  I  could  guess  before  breakfast  any  morning.  Yes! 
You  who  never  turned  an  honest  dollar  in  all  your  life,  and  who 
have  managed  to  lose  a  pretty  number,  even  you  would  see 
through  it.  I  do  see  the  point,  and  I  won't  be  quieted.  There's 
going  to  be  a  row  about  this  thing  before  we're  done  with  it, 
let  me  tell  you." 

"Do  you  find  yourself  safe  in  always  judging  other  men  by 
yourself?"  asked  Philip  after  a  pause.  " Do  I  look  like  a  fellow 
who  could  stoop  to  your  notions  of  what  a  man  may  let  himself 
do?    Was  I  ever  a  sneak?" 

Jasper  clenched  his  hands.  "Yes,"  he  cried  hoarsely, 
"yes.  When  were  you  ever  anything  else?  Your  life  has  been 
one  long  slinking  out  of  every  sort  of  duty,  responsibility,  and 
hard  work.  Your  father  has  fed  you  since  you  were  a  man; 
he  has  kept  you  in  amusement  and  helped  you  in  every  fool 
scheme  for  dodging  disagreeable  things  that  your  ingenuity 
could  invent." 

These  hot  words  were  soon  followed  by  blows,  and  a  fracas 
ensued  in  which  Jasper  was  worsted  and  knocked  unconscious 
by  PhiUp. 

Besides  their  financial  difficulties,  the  brothers  found  them- 
selves involved  in  an  affair  of  the  heart,  as  Dorothy  Maurice, 
for  whom  Philip  had  conceived  a  deep  attachment,  proved  to 
be  an  old  flame  of  Jasper's,  whom  he  still  hoped  to  win  in  spite 
of  her  previous  rejections  of  his  suit. 

At  this  crisis  in  Philip's  affairs,  he  received  a  telegram  telling 
him  that  ore  had  been  discovered  in  his  mine  named  the  Little 
Cipher,  and  that  consequently  he  was  rich.  This,  instead  of 
being  joyful  news  to  Philip,  was  quite  the  reverse,  because  of 
the  two  mines  that  he  had  been  managing,  the  Little  Cipher 
he  had  worked  for  Jasper  and  the  other,  named  the  Pay  Ore, 
for  himself.  This  fact  was  known  only  to  Philip,  however,  and 
it  was  entirely  a  matter  of  conscience  with  him,  as  he  had  made 
the  division  in  his  own  mind,  and  nobody  else  was  aware  of 
the  arrangement. 

He  battled  with  his  conscience,  which  told  him  to  give  to 


WOLCOTT  BALESTIER  43 

his  brother  the  mine  which  he  had  worked  in  his  interest,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  was  templed  to  take  for  himself  what  he 
had  exclusively  earned. 

He  went  to  see  Dorothy,  who  wished  to  know  the  cause  of 
the  estrangement  between  himself  and  Jasper,  and  when  he 
declined  to  tell  her  she  declined  to  accede  to  his  proposal  of 
marriage.  Philip  had  an  interview  with  Mr.  Maurice,  who 
confessed  that  he  was  under  an  obligation  to  Jasper,  of  whom 
he  had  borrowed  five  thousand  dollars,  and  who  he  feared  would 
make  things  most  unpleasant  for  him. 

Philip,  in  his  desire  to  serve  Dorothy,  yielded  to  temptation 
and  decided  to  take  possession  of  the  Little  Cipher  mine;  he 
told  Mr.  Maurice,  who  inclined  toward  a  rich  son-in-law,  that 
he  would  give  him  the  money  with  which  to  settle  with  Jasper. 

Dorothy,  learning  of  Jasper's  perfidy  toward  his  father  and 
brother,  found  her  heart  turned  completely  against  him  and 
drawn  toward  Philip.  These  two  soon  came  to  an  understand- 
ing, and  an  engagement  followed.  Philip  was  full  of  joy  at 
having  won  Dorothy,  the  only  damper  to  his  happiness  being 
the  consciousness  of  his  action  regarding  the  mine,  but  he 
reassured  himself  on  this  point  by  the  convincing  argument 
that  it  was  not  wrong  if  done  for  Dorothy's  sake. 

During  this  time  Deed's  whereabouts  had  been  unknown, 
but  this  mysterious  absence,  which  was  considered  intentional 
by  his  friends,  was  due  in  reality  to  an  accidental  happening. 
He  and  Margaret  had  been  snow-bound  in  a  place  named 
Mineral  Springs,  and  had  been  completely  shut  off  from  travel 
or  communication  with  the  outer  world.  This  enforced  delay 
had  fretted  Deed  greatly,  as  it  had  prevented  his  selling  the 
mine  and  restoring  the  trust-fund  that  he  had  borrowed.  Jasper 
discovered  his  father's  whereabouts,  managed  to  force  a  passage 
through  the  snow,  and  had  an  interview  with  him  regarding 
his  transactions. 

Deed  refused  to  capitulate  in  any  way,  and,  though  Jasper 
threatened  to  bring  suit  against  him,  he  told  him  he  would  fight 
to  the  end.  Jasper  on  his  return  trip  was  lost  in  the  snow,  and 
was  finally  rescued  in  the  last  stages  of  exhaustion.  This 
experience  was  followed  by  a  severe  illness  from  which  he 
barely  recovered.    He  was  visited  professionally  at  their  home 


44  BENEFITS  FORGOT 

by  Dr,  Ernfield,  who  was  prostrated  by  his  exertions  and  finally 
succumbed  to  a  severe  attack  of  his  fatal  malady.  He  was 
carefully  tended  by  Mrs.  Ventner,  and  he  received  a  visit  from 
Margaret  which  caused  him  mingled  pleasure  and  pain.  He 
wished  to  be  sure  that  Margaret  was  really  happy  with  Deed, 
and  when  she  convinced  him  that  this  was  the  case  he  was 
satisfied. 

While  these  events  were  taking  place,  Dorothy  and  Philip 
had  been  reveling  in  their  newly  found  happiness,  from  which, 
however,  they  soon  had  a  rude  awakening.  While  taking  a 
horseback  expedition  together,  to  visit  a  neighboring  mine, 
conversation  drifted  around  to  Philip's  experience  with  the 
Little  Cipher,  and  he,  not  wishing  longer  to  withhold  the 
truth  from  Dorothy,  explained  the  situation  to  her.  Dorothy 
was  horrified.  She  pressed  her  cheeks  rapidly  and  repeatedly 
with  her  handkerchief.  When  she  looked  at  him  again  it  was 
with  streaming  eyes.  "Say  you  were  not  in  your  right  mind, 
that  you  did  it  in  error!  Say  anything  rather  than  leave  me  to 
beheve  what  I  must!  It  wasn't  you!  Oh,  Philip!  Was  not 
the  man  I  have  known  you  for,  too  proud  ?  Would  he  not  have 
seen  how  the  very  security  with  which  he  might  take  it,  and 
keep  silence,  forced  him  to  hold  his  hand  ?  Oh,  say  you  did  not 
do  it!" 

"I  can't!    I  can't!"  he  cried.    "It's  true!" 

She  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  of  unspeakable  reproach;  and 
he  dropped  the  eyes  he  had  fixed  upon  her  while  she  spoke 
with  the  fascination  of  a  criminal  who  hears  his  sentence.  She 
checked  her  horse  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  then." 

"Good-by?"  he  exclaimed,  stupefied. 

"Did  you  think  we  could  go  on?"  she  asked  sadly.  "Did 
you  think  it  could  all  be  as  it  was?  No;  it  is  ended  for  us. 
Good-by,"  she  repeated.  The  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  in  a  ram, 
but  there  was  no  relenting  in  her  face.  "  Give  me  my  ring," 
she  said  dully. 

He  stared.  "Dorothy,"  he  burst  out,  "you  can't!  you 
won't!" 

"I  must." 

"  I  have  wronged  Jasper.    I  confess  it.    Nothing  that  he  has 


WOLCOTT   BALESTIER  45 

done  excuses  it.  It  makes  it  worse.  I  own  it.  But  I  can  right 
that.    I  will.    Dorothy,  surely  this  need  not  touch  us." 

" Oh,  what  do  I  care  for  Jasper?"  she  cried  in  misery.  "It 
is  for  you  I  care,  and  you  have  lost  yourself,  to  me,  to  all  that 
has  been.  Oh,  is  it  for  me  to  show  you  such  a  thing?  You 
have  murdered  our  love.  All  the  atonements  in  the  world  can't 
change  that." 

Philip  tried  to  prevail  upon  Dorothy  to  change  her  decision, 
but  at  last,  realizing  that  what  she  said  was  final,  he  tore  the 
ring  from  his  finger  and  left  her,  heart-broken. 

Meanwhile  his  father  had  returned  home  and  had  learned, 
to  his  astonishment,  of  Philip's  kindness  and  generosity  to 
himself,  which  had  saved  his  good  name  and  proved  how  mis- 
taken he  was  in  regard  to  his  son's  character. 

Deed  at  once  heard  of  Philip's  broken  engagement  and 
flight,  and,  feeling  himself  the  cause  of  all  this  trouble,  went 
immediately  to  Dorothy  to  intercede  in  his  son's  behalf.  He 
told  her  of  Philip's  noble  conduct  toward  himself  and  tried  to 
make  her  overlook  his  fault,  and  at  last  Dorothy  relented  and 
professed  her  willingness  to  see  him  again. 

Dorothy  begged  her  father  to  take  her  away  from  Maverick, 
and  he,  feeling  that  his  usefulness  there  was  over,  gladly  acceded 
to  her  wish.  They  went  to  an  adjacent  town  temporarily,  and 
while  there  Dorothy  was  visited  by  Jasper,  who  had  discovered 
her  hiding-place. 

He  tried  to  persuade  ner  to  listen  again  to  his  suit,  and  told 
her  that  since  his  illness  he  had  become  a  changed  man.  He 
also  said  he  was  ready  to  make  restitution  to  his  brother  and 
restore  to  him  his  share  of  the  ranch,  and  Dorothy  was  quite 
impressed  by  his  apparent  goodness. 

But  when  Jasper  found  that  his  protestations  would  not 
win  the  day,  he  changed  his  tactics  and  began  to  defame  the 
character  of  his  brother,  who  he  realized  was  his  rival.  He 
finally  let  out  the  secret  that  Philip  had  borrowed  five  thousand 
dollars  on  the  Little  Cipher  mine,  with  which  to  settle  Mr. 
Maurice's  debt  to  himself,  and  Dorothy  was  horror-stricken  at 
the  part  her  father  had  taken  in  the  transaction.  She  ordered 
Jasper  to  leave  her  at  once,  and  immediately  had  an  interview 
with  her  father  which  changed  her  previous  attitude  toward 


46  BENEFITS   FORGOT 

him  to  one  akin  to  loathing,  when  she  reahzed  that  he  had  been 
wiUing  to  barter  her  happiness  for  money. 

Dorothy  passed  a  sleepless  night  and  went  for  an  early 
morning  walk  to  try  to  decide  what  she  had  better  do,  when 
she  was  greatly  surprised  to  meet  Philip,  who  had  come  in  search 
of  her. 

Philip's  discovery  of  Dorothy  had  been  brought  about  by 
his  father,  who  had  gone  in  search  of  him  in  order  to  deliver 
personally  the  message  that  Dorothy  was  willing  to  see  him 
again. 

Deed's  efforts  were  rewarded  by  the  reconciliation  of  the 
lovers,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  had 
partially  repaid  Philip  for  his  goodness  to  him. 

The  marriage  of  Philip  and  Dorothy  soon  followed. 

Deed  decided  to  buy  back  the  ranch  and  return  it  to  Jasper 
on  the  original  terms  of  partnership;  and  Philip  sold  his  Pay 
Ore  mine  and  paid  back  the  money  that  he  had  borrowed  on 
the  credit  of  the  Little  Cipher. 

Mr.  Maurice  left  Colorado  and  returned  to  New  York  to 
be  assistant  rector  in  a  fashionable  parish,  where  it  was  hoped 
that  his  social  gifts  would  atone  for  the  absence  of  stronger 
qualities. 


i        *i 


i: 


40  BENEFITS  FORGOT 

him  to  one  akin  to  loathing,  when  she  realized  that  he  had  been 
willing  to  barter  her  happiness  for  money. 

Dorothy  passed  a  sleepless  night  and  went  fn  an  early 
morning  walk  to  try  to  decide  what  she  had  better  do,  when 
she  was  greatly  surprised  to  meet  Philif ,  whc*  had  conie  in  s(;arch 
of  her. 

Philip's  discovery  of  Dorothy  had  been  brought  about  by 
his  father,  who  had  gone  in  search  of  him  in  order  to  deliver 
personally  the  message  that  Dorothy  was  willing  to  ^ec  him 
again. 

Deed's  efforts  were  rewarded  by  the  reconciliation  of  the 
lovers,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  had 
partiajiy  repaid  Philip  for  his  goodness  to  him. 

The  marriage  of  Philip  and  Dorothy  soon  followed. 

Deed  decided  to  buy  back  the  ranch  and  return  it  to  Jasper 
on  the  original  terms  of  partnership;  and  Philip  sold  his  Pay 
Ore  mine  and  paid  back  the  money  that  he  had  borrowed  on 
t\n:  credit  of  theftlWdpfii??°''^  ^«  Balzac 

'^^s'*f9'^^e&jMt'=<!^kf!RM.4ofiiiM^Tf&iKmR&fit^  S«»*ten¥ork  to 

I  it  rector  in  a  fashionable  parish,  where  it  was  hoped 

x:ia]  gifts  would  atone  for  the  absence  of  stronger 


HONORE   DE    BALZAC 

(France,  i 799-1850) 
THE   CHOUANS   (1829) 

The  "Chouans"  were  the  French  royalists  of  Maine  and  Brittany  who 
revolted  against  the  French  conventions  in  1792.  Chouan  signifies  an  owl, 
and  may  have  been  a  nickname  of  Jean  Cottereau,  who  led  the  insurgents,  or 
perhaps  the  hoot  of  an  owl  was  used  to  summon  the  men  to  their  rendezvous. 
The  romantic  side  of  this  movement  was  utilized  by  Balzac,  and  his  plot  was 
subsequently  dramatized,  Madame  Modjeska,  the  Polish  actress,  enacting  the 
role  of  the  heroine.  This  novel  was  the  first  to  be  published  under  Balzac's 
name,  with  the  title  Le  Dernier  Chouan  ("The  Last  Chouan"). 

jOWARD  the  end  of  September,  1799,  a  hundred 
or  more  conscripts,  in  charge  of  a  detachment 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers,  were  slowly 
climbing  the  Pilgrim  Hill,  in  Brittany,  half-way 
between  Foug^res  and  Ern^e,  a  little  town  used 
by  travelers  as  a  half-way  house.  Among  them 
were  a  few  townspeople,  but  the  greater  part 
were  barefooted  peasants,  with  no  garments  but 
a  large  goatskin,  which  covered  them  from  neck 
to  knee,  and  breeches  of  the  coarsest  white  linen.  The  straight 
locks  of  their  long  hair  falling  on  their  shoulders  mingled 
with  the  goatskin  and  so  hid  their  faces  that  they  might 
easily  be  confounded  with  the  animals  whose  spoils  served 
to  clothe  them.  They  were  the  contingent  extracted  with  great 
difficulty  from  the  district  of  Fougeres  to  fill  the  \c\y  ordered 
by  the  Directory  of  the  French  Republic.  The  Government 
had  asked  for  a  hundred  millions  of  money  and  a  hundred 
thousand  men,  to  reenforce  its  armies,  then  in  process  of  defeat 
by  the  Austrians  in  Italy,  by  the  Prussians  in  Germany,  and 
by  Suwaroff  and  his  Russians  in  Switzerland. 

Brittany  was  divided  at  the  time  into  two  hostile  camps, 
the  adherents  and  the  opponents  of  the  Government.     The  lat- 

47 


48  THE   CHOUANS 

ter,  called  in  the  Bas  Breton  dialect  Chouans  ("screech-owls"), 
from  their  peculiar  cry  of  recognition,  were  made  up  chiefly  of 
peasantry  who,  driven  to  rebellion  by  heavy  taxes,  by  persecu- 
tion of  their  religion,  or  by  fear  of  being  enrolled  in  the  armies 
of  the  Repubhc,  supported  the  royahst  party,  but  often,  under 
pretense  of  waging  war  for  the  King,  infested  the  roads,  pillaged 
villages,  and  committed  all  sorts  of  depredations.  The  Bret- 
ons were  therefore  strongly  averse  to  mihtary  service,  and  the 
Commandant  of  the  Blues,  as  the  troops  of  the  Republic  were 
called,  from  their  blue  uniforms  faced  with  red,  was  anxious  to 
reach  Alenfon  with  his  levies,  so  as  to  be  in  a  more  populous 
district.  Before  quitting  Fougeres,  Commandant  Hulot  had 
secretly  provided  his  soldiers  with  ammunition  and  with  ra- 
tions for  the  whole  party;  and  he  had  resolved  not  to  halt  at 
Em^e,  the  usual  resting-place,  for  fear  that  his  contingent 
might  open  communication  with  the  Chouans,  who  were  doubt- 
less spread  over  the  neighboring  country.  In  going  up  the 
hill  the  conscripts  had  lagged  so  in  their  march  that  they  had 
put  two  hundred  paces  between  them  and  their  escort.  When 
Commandant  Hulot  observed  this,  he  cried,  in  a  voice  deep- 
ened by  the  hardships  of  war : 

"Why  the  devil  do  they  not  come  on?" 

"You  want  to  know  why?"  answered  a  voice. 

The  Commandant  turned  sharply  around  as  if  a  sword- 
point  had  pricked  him,  and  saw,  two  paces  off,  a  figure  odder 
than  any  of  the  others — a  short,  stoutly-built  man  with  broad 
shoulders,  a  head  nearly  as  large  as  a  bull's,  with  blubber  lips, 
flapping  ears,  and  red  hair,  which  made  him  seem  akin  rather 
to  cattle  than  to  mankind.  His  long  hair  fell  on  each  side 
of  his  face  and  mingled  with  that  of  the  shaggy  goatskin, 
and  his  feet  were  hidden  in  huge  wooden  shoes.  Instead  of 
the  knotty  stick  borne  by  the  conscripts  he  carried  a  large 
whip,  the  plaited  lash  of  which  seemed  twice  the  length  of  an 
ordinary  whip-lash.  Hulot,  surprised  at  the  man's  arrival, 
scanned  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  repeated  in  a  me- 
chanical fashion,  "Yes;  why  do  they  not  come  on?  do  you 
know,  man?" 

"The  reason,"  replied  his  sinister  interlocutor,  in  an  accent 
showing  that  he  spoke  French  with  difficulty,  "the  reason  is," 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  49 

and  he  pointed  with  his  huge  rough  hand  to  Ernde,  "that  there 
is  Maine,  and  here  Brittany  ends." 

Hulot  looked  at  him  with  piercing  eyes,  and  asked,  "Whence 
come  you?" 

"  From  the  country  of  the  Gars." 

"Your  name?" 

"Marche-k-Terre." 

"Why  do  you  use  your  Chouan  name  in  spite  of  the  law?" 

But  Marche-h,-Terre  stared  with  such  an  air  of  imbe- 
cility that  the  Commandant  thought  he  had  not  understood 
him. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  Fougeres  contingent?" 

"I  don't  know,"  rephed  the  man,  in  a  tone  which  arrests 
further  inquiry  in  despair.  He  calmly  seated  himself  by  the 
roadside,  drew  from  his  smock  some  pieces  of  black  buckwheat 
cake,  and  began  to  eat  with  a  stolid  nonchalance. 

Hulot  now  noticed  that  the  man's  hair,  smock,  and  goat- 
skins were  covered  with  thorns  and  scraps  of  leaves,  as  if  he 
had  made  a  long  journey  through  dense  thickets.  He  whis- 
pered to  Gerard,  his  adjutant,  "We  came  for  wool,  and  we 
shall  go  home  shorn." 

"Are  we  then  really  in  danger?"  asked  Gerard. 

"Hist!"  said  the  Commandant.  "We  are  in  the  wolfs 
throat.  Luckily,  we  hold  the  top  of  the  ridge.  Friends," 
he  continued,  speaking  in  low  tones  to  Captain  Merle  and  Ad- 
jutant Gerard,  "  I  have  private  information  of  the  mess  we  are 
in.  Fouch6  has  found  out  that  Louis  XVIII  has  sent  here  a 
man  full  of  talent  and  vigor,  a  ci-devant,  whose  hope  is  to  unite 
Vend^ans  and  Chouans.  The  fellow  has  actually  landed  in 
Morbihan.  He  calls  himself  '  the  Gars.'  For  all  these  cattle 
fit  themselves  with  names  that  would  give  an  honest  patriot  the 
stomach-ache  if  he  bore  them.  Moreover,  our  man  is  about 
here;  and  the  appearance  of  this  Chouan  shows  me  that  he  is 
upon  us.     But  they  don't  teach  tricks  to  an  old  monkey." 

Hulot  now  sent  scouts  ahead  to  examine  the  woods  on  each 
side  of  the  road,  set  two  men  to  watch  Marche-a-Terre,  with 
orders  to  shoot  him  at  any  suspicious  movement,  and  drew  up 
his  men  in  battle  array.  The  conscripts  were  huddled  together 
thirty  paces  in  the  rear,  and  ten  paces  back  of  them  was  a 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 4 


50  THE  CHOUANS 

squad  of  soldiers  under  Lieutenant  Lebrun.  Just  then  an  owl 
hooted  afar  off.  Hulot  took  his  eyes  off  Marche-a-Terre  for 
an  instant.  The  Chouan  whistled  in  a  way  to  send  the  sound 
to  a  great  distance,  and  before  his  watchers  could  take  aim  at 
him,  he  struck  both  down  with  his  whip  and  disappeared  in 
the  thicket.  As  he  ran  his  sabots  dropped  off,  and  all  could 
see  on  his  feet  the  hobnailed  shoes  worn  by  the  "King's  Hunts- 
men," as  the  royalists  called  themselves. 

At  the  Chouans'  signal  the  whole  gathering  of  conscripts 
dashed  into  the  wood  Hke  a  flock  of  birds.  At  the  same  time 
cries  or  rather  savage  howls  arose,  and  a  heavy  volley  from  the 
wood  at  the  top  of  the  slope  laid  low  seven  or  eight  soldiers. 
Hulot  sent  two  detachments,  under  Gerard  and  Merle,  to  take 
the  Chouans  on  the  flanks.  Three  hundred  of  the  enemy  de- 
bouched from  the  wood  and  formed  in  a  disorderly  way  across 
the  road  in  front  of  the  Blues,  and  would  probably  have  suc- 
ceeded in  surrounding  the  Httle  company  if  the  wings  had  not 
raked  their  rear  with  several  volleys,  which  almost  equahzed 
their  numbers.  The  Blues  then  dashed  on  them  with  the  bayonet, 
and  both  sides  gave  themselves  up  to  the  furious  zeal  which  made 
this  war  unique,  each  in  silence  broken  only  by  the  clash  of  arms 
and  the  crunching  of  the  gravel. 

Hulot  soon  distinguished  among  the  Chouans  a  man  who, 
surrounded  by  a  few  picked  followers,  seemed  to  be  their  leader. 
Beside  him  stood  Marche-a-Terre,  whose  rifle  was  always  active, 
repeating  his  orders  in  a  harsh  tone.  The  young  leader,  slender 
and  weU  proportioned,  seemed  to  Hulot  to  be  not  more  than 
twenty-five  years  old.  He  wore  a  green  cloth  shooting- coat,  and 
the  Commandant  thought  he  saw  on  his  half-opened  waistcoat  a 
broad  red  ribbon.  Of  his  features,  he  could  distinguish  only 
sparkling  eyes,  fair  hair,  and  a  finely  cut  profile.  His  bearing 
was  marked  at  once  by  elegance  and  strength,  making  him  a 
pleasing  type  of  the  French  noblesse,  in  strong  contrast  with  the 
Republican  leader. 

Victory  might  have  remained  undecided  for  hours,  if  the 
sound  of  a  drum  had  not  announced  the  coming  of  the  National 
Guard  of  Fougeres,  for  which  Hulot  had  despatched  a  messenger. 
On  hearing  the  approach  of  rcenforcements  for  the  Blues,  the 
Chouans  suUenly  fell  back,  fighting  every  inch  of  ground,  and 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  51 

finally  disappeared  over  the  ridge  as  the  men  of  Fougcres  came 
on  a  run  to  the  battlc-ficld. 

Some  time  after  this  engagement,  Commandant  Hulot  received 
orders  to  escort  the  mail-coach  containing  two  ladies  from  May- 
enne  to  Mortagne.  As  the  Chouans  were  about  the  latter  place, 
he  took  two  companies  and  his  trusty  officers,  Merle  and  Gerard. 

"May  they  make  a  noble  of  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  I  under- 
stand a  word  of  my  despatches.  But  I  dare  say  I  am  only  a  fool. 
Don't  these  Paris  dandies  request  us  to  show  the  greatest  respect 

to  their  d d  females?    Look  at  the  First  Consul:  there's  a  man 

for  you;  no  women  about  him,  always  attending  to  his  business." 

One  company  of  the  escort  preceded  the  coach  and  one  fol- 
lowed it.  The  two  travelers  were  Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil  and 
her  maid  Francine.  They  were  apparently  accompanied  by 
Monsieur  Corentin,  a  thin,  dried-up  little  man,  who  rode  some- 
times before  and  sometimes  behind  the  carriage,  but  no  one  ever 
saw  him  address  the  ladies.  His  costume,  in  the  fashion  which 
called  forth  the  caricatures  of  the  Incroyables,  roused  Hulot 's  ire 
and  caused  some  uncomplimentary  remarks  to  his  officers. 

At  Alenfon  the  coach  stopped  at  the  Three  Moors,  an  inn  in 
the  High  Street,  for  breakfast. 

As  the  travelers  were  evidently  of  importance,  and  time  was 
precious,  the  innkeeper  suggested  that  they  should  join  a  party, 
the  Citizen  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr  and  his  mother,  Madame  du  Gua, 
who  had  breakfast  ready  to  be  served  in  a  private  room  upstairs. 
As  he  made  this  suggestion,  a  short,  thick-set  man  came  noise- 
lessly in,  touched  the  innkeeper  with  his  whip,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear:  "You  know  what  any  imprudence  or  any  tale-bearing 
means?"  With  this  he  made  a  gesture  which  caused  the  land- 
lord to  turn  pale.  Francine,  the  lady's  maid,  thought  she  recog- 
nized the  speaker,  and,  to  make  sure,  ran  to  a  window  and  watched 
him  as  he  went  to  the  stable.  From  his  walk  and  gestures  she 
knew  him  to  be  the  Chouan  called  Marche-a-Terre.  Her  curi- 
osity was  excited,  but  she  determined  to  keep  her  discovery  to 
herself  and  watch  events. 

Just  then  a  young  man,  who  stood  on  the  staircase  and  had 
seen  the  travelers  come  in,  said,  looking  at  Mademoiselle  de 
Vemeuil,  "If  it  is  this  young  citizeness  that  you  mean  to  give  us 
as  a  guest,  in  my  mother's  absence  I  accept." 


52  THE  CHOUANS 

The  speaker  wore  the  blue  coat  and  black  gaiters  of  the  students 
of  the  Ecole  Polytechnique,  but  Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil  dis- 
tinguished at  a  glance  under  this  sober  costume  an  elegant  form 
and  the  marks  of  native  nobihty.  She  bent  her  head  gracefully, 
smiled  coquettishly,  and  darted  one  of  those  velvet  glances  which 
would  rekindle  a  heart  dead  to  love,  with  her  long  lashes  drooping 
over  her  almond-shaped  black  eyes,  and  said  in  her  most  melodious 
tones,  "We  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir."  She  and  Fran- 
cine  then  disappeared  up  the  stairs,  leaving  the  young  man  to 
settle  with  himself  whether  her  reply  imphed  acceptance  or 
refusal. 

"Who  is  the  woman?"  he  asked  of  the  host. 

"'Tis  the  Citizeness  Vemeuil,"  replied  Corentin,  in  a  sour 
tone,  scanning  the  young  man  jealously,  "and  she  is  a  ci-devant. 
What  do  you  want  with  her?" 

The  student,  who  was  humming  a  Republican  song,  lifted  his 
head  haughtily.  The  two  glared  at  each  other,  and  the  glance 
was  the  seed  of  a  mutual  and  eternal  hatred. 

"That  fellow,"  whispered  the  young  man  to  the  hostess,  "is  a 
spy  of  Fouche's.  Police  is  written  on  his  face."  Then,  to  a  lady 
who  entered  the  room,  "Dear  mamma,  I  have  mustered  some 
guests  in  your  absence." 

"Guests!"  she  exclaimed;  "what  madness!" 

"'Tis  Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  tone. 

"She  perished  on  the  scaffold  after  the  affair  at  Savenay," 
said  his  mother  sharply. 

"You  mistake,  Madame,"  said  Corentin  gently,  "there  are 
two  Demoiselles  de  Vemeuil." 

Corentin,  who  had  been  privately  studying  her,  saw  a  lady 
with  a  dazzling  skin  and  luxuriant  black  hair,  with  a  face  that 
showed  mental  power,  but  he  did  not  believe  that  she  could  be 
the  mother  of  the  young  man.  He  noted  too  that  her  mantle  was 
of  English  stuff,  and  that  the  shape  of  her  bonnet  was  foreign. 

"If  she  is  his  mother,"  thought  he,  "then  I  am  the  Pope!  I 
have  got  hold  of  some  Chouans;  let  us  make  sure  of  what  their 
quality  is." 

At  the  breakfast,  which  passed  off  pleasantly,  though  each 
endeavored  in  vain  to  find  out  the  other's  political  preferences, 
Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil,  learning  that  the  destination  of  the 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  53 

strangers  was  the  same  as  her  own,  invited  them  to  share  her 
coach  and  escort.  While  they  were  discussing  this,  Commandant 
Hulot  entered  and  stood  agape  at  the  sailor,  whom  he  considered 
with  extraordinary  attention. 

"What's  the  matter,  Commandant?  Do  you  happen  to  know 
me?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  the  Republican.  "What  is  your 
family  name?" 

"  Du  Gua  Saint-Cyr." 

"And  have  you  got  papers?" 

"Perhaps  you  want  to  read  them?"  said  the  sailor  in  an  im- 
pertinent tone. 

"  Does  a  young  monkey  hke  you  think  to  make  a  fool  of  me?" 
exclaimed  Hulot  angrily.     "Your  papers,  or  off  with  you!" 

"Who  are  you?" 

"The  Commandant  of  the  department.     Come,  your  papers!" 

Just  as  the  measured  tread  of  soldiers  was  heard  in  the  street, 
the  young  man  offered  some  papers,  which  Hulot  read  slowly. 
During  the  reading  an  owl's  hoot  was  heard.  The  Commandant, 
handing  back  the  papers,  said:  "That  is  all  very  well,  but  you 
must  come  with  me  to  the  district  office." 

"Why  do  you  take  him  there?"  asked  Mademoiselle  de 
Verneuil. 

"Young  woman,"  replied  Hulot,  "that  is  no  business  of 
yours." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil's  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
"Tell  me,"  she  asked,  "has  this  young  man  comphed  with  the 
law's  demands?" 

"Yes,  in  appearance,"  said  Hulot  ironically. 

"Then,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  let  him  alone  in  appear- 
ance/' said  she.     "  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  him?" 

"  Nothing  but  cool  his  head  with  a  little  lead,"  said  the  Com- 
mandant ironically.     "Come,  my  fine  fellow,  come  along!" 

"Do  not  stir,"  said  the  girl  to  the  young  man,  with  a  dignified 
gesture.  Then  from  her  bodice  she  drew  a  letter  and  handed  it 
to  Hulot. 

"Read  that,"  she  said,  with  a  sneer. 

Hulot  read  with  stupefaction  a  letter  bearing  the  ministerial 
countersign,    commanding   all   authorities   to   obey   the   bearer. 


54  THE   CHOUANS 

Then  he  drew  his  sword,  broke  it  across  his  knee,  and  threw  down 
the  fragments. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "I  am  not  good  at  obeying  where 
pretty  girls  command.  My  resignation  shall  be  sent  to  the  First 
Consul  to-night." 

"Colonel,"  said  the  fair  Parisian,  "though  your  beard  is 
rather  long,  you  may  kiss  this,  for  you  are  a  man." 

"I  hope  so.  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  depositing  clumsily  a 
kiss  on  her  hand.  "As  for  you,  my  fine  fellow,  you  have  had  a 
nice  escape." 

"For  whom  did  you  take  my  son?"  asked  Madame  du  Gua. 

"For  the  Gars,  the  chief  sent  to  the  Chouans  and  the  Ven- 
deans  by  the  London  Cabinet — the  Marquis  de  Montauran." 

The  Commandant  abruptly  left  the  room,  but  Mademoiselle 
de  Vemeuil  followed,  stopped  him  in  the  passage,  and  asked 
gravely : 

"Have  you  really  strong  reasons  for  suspecting  this  man  of 
being  the  Gars?" 

"God's  thunder!  Mademoiselle,  the  fellow  who  travels  with 
you  told  me  that  the  travelers  Du  Gua  Saint-Cyr  had  been  assas- 
sinated by  the  Chouans." 

"Oh!  if  Corentin  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  said  she,  with  a  con- 
temptuous gesture,  "I  am  surprised  at  nothing." 

As  soon  as  Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil  had  left  the  room, 
Madame  du  Gua  said  to  her  companion:  "Women  will  certainly 
be  your  ruin.  Wliy  did  you  allow  her  to  breakfast  with  us? 
She  is  one  of  the  loose  women  by  whose  aid  Fouchd  hopes  to 
seize  you,  and  the  letter  she  showed  was  given  to  her  in  order  to 
command  the  services  of  the  Blues  against  yourself." 

The  result  of  the  foregoing  was  that  the  young  man,  who 
really  was  the  Gars,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil,  who  was 
employed  by  the  Government  to  entrap  him,  fell  mutually  in 
love.  They  all  traveled  together  on  the  way  to  Fougeres,  but 
night  fell  before  they  reached  their  destination,  and,  at  the 
invitation  of  him  who  called  himself  Du  Gua  Saint-Cyr,  who 
gave  his  word  of  honor  for  the  safety  of  all,  including  the  Repub- 
lican guard,  they  stopped  for  the  night  at  the  Chateau  de  la 
Vivetiere. 

To   Mademoiselle  de  Vemeuil's  astonishment,   she  found 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  55 

herself,  at  supper,  among  a  large  number  of  Chouan  and  Ven- 
dean  chiefs,  met  here  at  an  important  conference.  The  Mar- 
quis explained  to  them  that  he  was  indebted  for  his  life  to  the 
young  lady,  and  that  she  and  her  escort  were  present  on  his 
parole,  and  must  be  received  as  friends.  Notwithstanding 
this,  Madame  du  Gua  recalled  to  them  that,  although  their 
friends  in  Paris  had  warned  them  of  just  such  a  snare,  Mon- 
tauran  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  girl  who,  she  believed,  had 
stolen  a  great  name  in  order  to  disgrace  it,  and  that  he  appeared 
to  be  ready  to  sacrifice  all  their  interests  to  satisfy  his  own  love 
of  pleasure.  In  consequence  of  her  machinations,  the  entire 
escort  of  Blues,  numbering  sixty-five  men,  were  surrounded  in 
the  courtyard  by  Marche-a-Terre  and  his  men,  and  butchered, 
with  their  officers.  Merle  and  Gerard,  At  the  sound  of  the 
firing,  everyone  rose  from  the  table  save  Madame  du  Gua. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  she;  "'tis  nothing.  Our  folks 
are  only  kiUing  the  Blues!"  But  as  soon  as  she  saw  that  the 
Marquis  had  left  the  room,  she  arose  and  dashed  at  Mademoiselle 
de  Verneuil  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  "This  young  lady  here," 
she  cried,  "came  to  carry  off  the  Gars  from  us.  She  came  to 
try  to  give  him  up  to  the  Republic."  She  tore  open  her  dress 
and  snatched  from  her  bosom  a  paper.  "Here,"  she  cried,  "is 
an  order,  signed  Laplace,  and  countersigned  Dubois.  And 
this  is  its  tenor :  *  Citizen  commandants  of  the  forces  of  all  ranks, 
district  administrators,  procurators,  syndics,  and  so  forth,  in  the 
revolted  departments,  and  especially  those  of  the  places  where  the 
ci-devant  Marquis  de  Montauran,  brigand- chief,  surnamed  the 
Gars,  may  he  found,  are  to  afford  succor  and  help  to  the  Citizeness 
Marie  Verneuil,  and  to  obey  any  orders  which  she  may  give 
them,  each  in  such  matters  as  concern  him,  etc.,  etc."^ 

"To  think  of  an  opera-girl  taking  an  illustrious  name  to 
soil  it  with  such  infamy!"  she  added. 

Then,  not  perceiving  that  the  Marquis  had  come  in,  she 
said  to  a  Chouan:  "Take  her  away,  Pille  Miche;  she  is  my 
share  of  the  spoil,  and  I  give  her  to  you.  Do  with  her  whatever 
you  like." 

Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil,  her  eyes  flashing  fire,  darted  to 
the  door,  where  the  Marquis  was  standing.  With  a  glance  of 
half-irrational  hatred,   she  seized   Merle's  sword,   which  had 


56  THE   CHOUANS 

been  left  there,  and  drove  it  on  him  up  to  the  hilt.  But  the 
blade  passed  between  his  arm  and  his  side;  the  Gars  caught 
her  by  the  waist  and,  aided  by  Pille  Miche,  dragged  her  from 
the  room.  At  this,  Francine,  uttering  piercing  cries,  followed 
her  mistress,  shrieking  "Pierre!  Pierre!" 

When  they  led  her  into  the  yard  and  she  saw  the  corpses  of 
the  Blues  stretched  on  the  straw,  she  cried  with  a  shudder, 
" The  faith  of  a  gentleman !  ha!  ha!  ha!    A  happy  day!" 

"Yes,  a  happy  one,"  answered  the  Marquis,  "and  one  with- 
out a  morrow." 

He  turned  bruskly  away,  leaving  Pille  Miche  his  victim. 

"Marquis!"  she  said,  "God  will  hear  me,  and  I  shall  pray 
Him  to  give  you  a  happy  day  without  a  morrow!" 

Madame  du  Gua  did  not  have  her  revenge.  Francine, 
whose  lover  Pierre  was  the  Chouan  called  Marche-a-Terre, 
persuaded  Pille  Miche  to  sell  her  mistress,  and  the  two  women 
were  hurried  into  the  coach  and  driven  at  headlong  speed  to 
Fougeres.  When  Commandant  Hulot  came  to  her  the  next 
day  to  demand  account  of  his  soldiers,  she  said :  "I  shall  avenge 
them.  I  will  lure  this  young  noble  into  my  embraces,  and  he 
shall  quit  them  only  to  take  his  death  journey.  The  wretch 
has  pronounced  his  own  sentence,  'A  day  without  a  morrow!'  " 

To  secure  this  end  she  went  again  among  the  Chouans  and 
attended  a  ball  given  by  the  chiefs  at  their  headquarters  at  St. 
James,  a  little  town  in  Brittany  named  by  the  English  in  the 
fourteenth  century.  She  made  her  peace  with  the  Marquis, 
who,  again  infatuated  with  her,  accompanied  her  back  until  in 
sight  of  Fougeres. 

They  afterward  met  by  stealth  at  places  near  the  town,  and 
once  the  Marquis  was  nearly  caught  by  Hulot  and  his  Blues. 
At  last  he  offered  her  his  hand  and  name  and  promised  to  risk 
everything  to  secure  her  love. 

"The  day  after  to-morrow,  if  in  the  morning  you  see  smoke 
on  the  rocks  of  Saint-Sulpice,  that  evening  I  shall  be  at  your 
house  as  lover,  as  husband,  whichever  you  will.  I  shall  have 
put  all  to  the  touch!" 

"Then,  Alphonse,  you  really  love  me,"  she  cried  with 
transport,  "that  you  risk  your  life  thus  before  you  give  it  to 
me?" 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  57 

He  answered  not,  but  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes  fell;  but  he 
read  on  the  passionate  countenance  of  his  mistress  a  madness 
equal  to  his  own,  and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  set,  the  Marquis  de  Montauran, 
accompanied  by  a  priest,  and  by  two  witnesses,  the  Count  de 
Bauvan  and  the  Baron  du  Gu^nic,  appeared  at  the  house  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  in  Fougeres.  At  the  end  of  the 
salon  an  altar  had  been  improvised,  and  the  white-haired  priest 
was  arrayed  in  his  sacerdotal  garments. 

"Leave  me  alone  with  the  priest,"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Verneuil. 

When  the  gentlemen  had  withdravm,  she  said:  "Father,  in 
my  childhood,  an  old  man  frequently  repeated  to  me  that,  with 
a  lively  faith,  man  can  obtain  everything  from  God.  Is  this 
true?" 

"It  is  true,"  answered  the  priest.  "Everything  is  possible 
to  Him  who  has  created  everything." 

Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  threw  herself  on  her  knees  with 
wonderful  enthusiasm.  "O  God!"  said  she  in  her  ecstasy, 
"my  faith  in  Thee  is  equal  to  my  love  for  him!  Inspire  me 
now:  let  a  miracle  be  done,  or  take  my  life!" 

"Your  prayer  will  be  heard,"  said  the  priest. 

And  it  was  answered.  Before  morning,  both  their  forms, 
shot  to  death  by  Hulot's  Blues,  lay  side  by  side  on  a  camp-bed 
in  the  guard-house. 

The  dying  girl,  recognizing  her  husband,  murmured  in  an 
almost  stifled  voice: 

"  A  Day  without  a  Morrow.  God  has  heard  my  prayer 
too  well!" 


THE  MAGIC   SKIN   (1831) 
(La  Peau  de  Chagrin'\ 

This  is  one  of  the  best  known  of  Balzac's  novels.  He  worked  very  hard 
over  it,  and  his  hopes  of  its  success  were  reahzed.  It  was  asserted  that  Ernst 
T.  W.  Hoffman,  the  German  novehst,  was  his  model,  but  Balzac  denied  it. 
Before  it  appeared  in  two  volumes,  in  183 1,  a  few  fragments  were  pubUshed  in 
periodicals.  It  was  also  included  in  the  three  volumes  entitled  Romans  et  Cojites 
PJiilosophiques.  In  1835  it  was  classed  with  the  Etudes  Philosophiques.  Some 
critics  have  compared  it  to  Faust  and  Hamlet.  Perhaps  Balzac  speaks  for  him- 
self through  the  old  merchant,  who  says  to  Raphael:  "I  vwll  tell  you  in  a  few 
words  the  secret  of  human  life.  By  two  instinctive  processes,  man  exhausts  the 
springs  of  life  within  him.  Two  verbs  cover  all  the  forms  which  these  two  causes 
of  death  may  take — To  Will  and  To  have  your  Will.  Between  these  two  hmits 
of  human  activity  the  wise  have  discovered  an  intermediate  formula,  to  which 
I  owe  my  good  fortune  and  long  life.  To  Will  consumes  us,  and  To  have  our 
Will  destroys  us,  but  To  Know  steeps  our  feeble  organisms  in  perpetual  calm." 
He  tells  us  that  The  Magic  Skin  to  some  extent  forms  a  link  between  the  Pliilo- 
sophical  Studies  and  Studies  of  Manners,  by  a  work  of  almost  Oriental  fancy, 
in  which  life  itself  is  shown  in  a  mortal  struggle  with  the  very  element  of  all 
passion.  Rastignac  and  Bianchon  are  frequently  met  with  in  other  novels;  they 
appear  first  after  this  story  in  Pere  Goriot. 


N  October,  1829,  a  young  man  entered  the  Palais 
Royal,  just  as  the  gaming-houses  opened.  He 
ascended  the  stairs  of  gambling-hell  number 
thirty-six,  and  walked  into  the  salon  where  the 
rattle  of  coin  brought  his  senses  under  the  spell 
of  greed.  Several  gamblers  were  there,  hovering 
over  the  green  table;  the  croupier  and  the 
banker  were  crying,  "  Make  your  play!"  The 
young  man,  who  appeared  to  be  about  twenty- 
five,  threw  a  piece  of  gold  upon  the  table.  It  rolled  upon  the 
black.  A  young  Itahan,  with  sudden  enthusiasm,  punted  his 
heap  against  the  stranger's  gold.  "Even!  Red  wins!"  cried 
the  croupier.  As  the  banker  showered  the  notes  upon  the 
Italian,  the  stranger  turned  pale  and  left  the  room.  He  went 
down  the  steps,  feebly  whistling  Di  tanti  Pal  pi  H,  walked  into 
the  Rue  Saint  Honore,  crossed  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and 

58 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  59 

thought  of  suicide.  He  bent  his  way  toward  the  Pont  Royal, 
reached  the  middle  of  the  arch,  leaned  over  the  parapet  and 
looked  forebodingly  at  the  cold  and  dirty  Seine.  Death  in 
broad  daylight  seemed  degrading;  he  would  wait  until  night. 
Strolling  along,  he  came  across  the  shop  of  a  dealer  in  antiques, 
and  thought  to  wile  away  the  time  in  looking  at  the  curiosities. 
The  young  shopkeeper  gave  him  permission  to  wander  about. 
It  was  indeed  a  marvelous  collection :  four  galleries  full  of  works 
of  art  and  curios  of  all  periods  and  countries.  A  mahogany 
coffer,  hanging  from  a  nail  by  a  silver  chain,  attracted  his  at- 
tention. 

"What  is  in  it?"  he  asked  the  shopman,  who  replied  that 
he  would  have  to  fetch  his  master. 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  man  sank  into  a  reverie,  from 
which  he  was  aroused  by  a  startling  apparition.  A  little,  old 
man,  thin,  with  long  white  hair  and  gray,  pointed  beard,  clad 
in  a  black  velvet  robe,  girded  with  a  silk  cord,  and  a  black  velvet 
skull-cap,  stood  before  him  holding  aloft  a  lamp. 

"You  wish  to  see  Raphael's  picture  of  Jesus  Christ,  Mon- 
sieur?" the  old  man  asked,  and  as  he  pushed  aside  a  spring  the 
painting  was  revealed.  After  the  young  man  had  admired  the 
picture,  he  exclaimed: 

"And  now  for  death!" 

The  merchant  thought  he  intended  to  murder  him,  and 
the  stranger  had  to  explain  his  intention  of  committing  suicide. 
The  old  man  offered  to  make  him  rich  and  powerful. 

"Look,"  he  said,  holding  the  lamp  so  as  to  cast  light  on  the 
wall,  "look  at  that  leather  skin!" 

The  young  man  rose  abruptly,  and  showed  some  surprise 
at  the  sight  of  a  piece  of  shagreen  which  hung  on  the  wall  be- 
hind his  chair.  It  was  only  about  the  size  of  a  fox's  skin,  but 
it  seemed  to  fill  the  deep  shadows  of  the  place  with  such  bril- 
liant rays  that  it  looked  like  a  small  comet,  an  appearance  at 
first  sight  inexplicable.  The  young  skeptic  went  up  to  this  so- 
called  talisman,  which  was  to  rescue  him  from  his  woes,  with 
a  scoffing  phrase  in  his  thoughts.  Still,  a  harmless  curiosity 
led  him  to  bend  over  it  and  look  at  it  from  all  points  of  view, 
and  he  soon  learned  the  cause  of  its  singular  brilliance.  The 
dark  grain  of  the  leather  had  been  so  carefully  burnished  and 


6o  THE  MAGIC   SKIN 

polished,  the  striped  markings  of  the  graining  were  so  sharp 
and  clear,  that  every  particle  of  the  surface  of  the  bit  of  Oriental 
leather  concentrated  the  light  and  reflected  it  vividly. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "here  is  the  mark  of  the  seal  which  in  the 
East  they  call  Solomon's  Signet!" 

The  old  man  held  the  lamp  close  to  the  talisman  and  pointed 
out  some  inlaid  characters.  The  mysterious  words  were  San- 
skrit, and  read  as  follows: 

Possessing   me,    thou   shalt   possess   all   things. 
But  thy  Hfe  is  mine,  for  God  has  so  willed  it. 
Wish,  and  thy  wishes  shall  be  fulfilled; 
But  measure  thy  desires,  according 
To  the  life  that  is  in  thee. 
This  is  thy  life. 
With  each  wish  I  must  shrink 

Even  as  thy  own  days. 
Wilt  thou  have  me?     Take  me. 
God    will    hearken    unto     thee. 
So  be  it! 

"I  have  offered  this  talisman  with  its  terrible  powers  to 
many  men,"  the  merchant  continued,  "but  no  one  was  willing 
to  conclude  the  fateful  contract  proposed  by  an  unknown  force." 

The  stranger  clutched  the  talisman, 

"Let  me  see  now,"  he  exclaimed:  "I  wish  for  a  royal  ban- 
quet, a  carouse  worthy  of  this  century,  which,  it  is  said,  has 
brought  everything  to  perfection.  Let  me  have  young  boon 
companions,  witty,  unwarped  by  prejudice,  merry  to  the  verge 
of  madness!  Let  one  wine  succeed  another,  each  more  biting 
and  perfumed  than  the  last  and  strong  enough  to  bring  about 
three  days  of  delirium!  Passionate  women's  forms  should 
grace  that  night!  I  would  be  borne  away  to  unknown  regions 
beyond  the  confines  of  this  world  by  the  car  and  four-winged 
steed  of  a  frantic  and  uproarious  orgy.  Next,  I  bid  this  enig- 
matical power  to  concentrate  all  delights  for  me  in  one  single 
joy.  Yes,  I  must  comprehend  every  pleasure  of  earth  and 
heaven  in  the  final  embrace  that  is  to  kill  me!" 

The  merchant,  laughing  ironically,  said: 

"Your  wishes  will  be  accurately  fulfilled,  but  at  the  expense 
of  your  life.  The  compass  of  your  days  visible  in  that  skin  will 
contract  according  to  the  strength  and  number  of  your  desires, 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  6i 

from  the  least  to  the  most  extravagant.  The  Brahman  from 
whom  I  had  this  skin  explained  to  me  that  it  would  bring  about 
a  mysterious  connection  between  the  fortunes  and  wishes  of 
its  possessor.  After  all,  you  were  wishing  to  die;  very  well, 
your  suicide  is  only  postponed!" 

The  young  man,  not  noticing  how  flexible  the  skin  had  be- 
come, thrust  it  into  his  coat-pocket  and  abruptly  left.  As  he 
rushed  into  the  street,  he  ran  into  three  young  men. 

"Why,  it  is  Raphael!"  they  exclaimed. 

They  had  been  hunting  for  him  several  days;  a  new  news- 
paper had  just  been  established  and  large  salaries  and  a  merry 
life  for  the  young  journalists  and  critics  were  to  be  had.  Arm 
in  arm,  with  Raphael  in  their  midst,  they  crossed  the  Pont  des 
Arts  and  reached  a  mansion  in  the  Rue  Joubert.  A  great 
banquet  was  to  take  place.  In  a  gorgeously  furnished  room, 
splendid  with  color  and  sweet  with  scent  of  blooming  flowers,  a 
long  table  was  set  with  gleaming  silver  and  brilliant  crystal. 
Wonderful  viands  and  rare  wines  succeeded  one  another,  and 
the  conversation  of  the  wits  was  "merry  to  the  verge  of  mad- 
ness."    Raphael's  wish  had  been  reaHzed. 

When  he  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  another  request 
was  obeyed :  beautiful  women  were  there  to  charm  the  revelers. 
The  scene  became  a  saturnalia;  the  rooms  were  like  a  fore- 
taste of  Milton's  Pandemonium;  "the  frantic  and  uproarious 
orgy"  that  Raphael  had  desired  was  enacted. 

Raphael  then  told  his  friend  Emile  the  history  of  his  life: 
his  father's  strict  discipline;  his  early  pleasures ;  his  loss  of  for- 
tune; his  social  experiences;  his  lodging  at  Madame  Gaudin's, 
where  her  daughter  Pauline  so  tenderly  cared  for  him;  and  his 
acquaintance  with  Rastignac,  who  introduced  him  to  the  beau- 
tiful Countess  Foedora.  It  was  particularly  of  her  that  he 
talked,  of  "this  woman  without  a  heart,"  who  scorned  his  love. 
He  also  told  Emile  how  he  left  the  Gaudins,  and  plunged  into 
a  vortex  of  pleasures,  in  which  gaming  played  an  important 
part,  but  only  in  private  houses.  He  never  had  been  in  a 
gambling-house  until  he  reached  his  last  twenty-franc  piece. 
Then,  remembering  Rastignac's  luck,  this  reminded  him  of  the 
talisman.     He  pulled  it  out  of  his  pocket. 

"The  devil  take  death!"  he  cried  wildly,  brandishing  the 


62  THE  MAGIC   SKIN 

skin.  "I  mean  to  live!  I  am  rich!  Nothing  can  withstand 
me!" 

Half  mad,  he  explained  the  virtues  of  the  talisman  to  Emile, 
and  they  retired  to  the  dining-room  and  measured  it  on  a  nap- 
kin, tracing  its  outline  carefully.  "I  wish  for  an  income  of  two 
thousand  livres,"  said  Raphael.  "When  that  comes,  you  will 
observe  a  mighty  shrinkage  in  my  shagreen." 

At  noon,  a  notary  called  to  inquire  for  Raphael.  He  had 
inherited  a  large  fortune  from  his  mother's  brother.  Raphael 
spread  the  talisman  upon  the  napkin,  and  saw  that  it  did  not 
quite  reach  the  outline  he  had  traced.  His  face  took  on  a 
ghastly  hue;  he  was  terrified;  he  was  facing  Death!  Did  not 
his  mother  die  of  consumption?  "Like  a  traveler  in  the  middle 
of  a  desert,  with  but  a  little  water  to  quench  his  thirst,  he  must 
measure  his  life  by  the  draughts  he  took  of  it." 

In  December,  an  old  man  peered  at  every  door  in  the  Rue 
de  Varenne,  searching  for  the  house  of  the  Marquis  Raphael  de 
Valentin.  He  had  difficulty  in  effecting  an  entrance.  Jona- 
than, an  old  servant,  described  to  the  old  gentleman,  when  he 
told  him  he  was  Monsieur  Porriquet,  Raphael's  old  tutor,  how 
strangely  his  master  lived.  The  house  was  luxuriously  fur- 
nished ;  but  there  was  no  life  within.  Raphael  lived  in  sohtude, 
vegetating,  and  Jonathan  had  to  treat  him  as  if  he  "were  a 
baby  in  long  clothes,"  thinking  of  all  his  needs,  anticipating 
his  every  desire.     Raphael  did  not  desire  to  wish. 

M.  Porriquet  was  admitted,  and  found  Raphael  in  his 
dressing-gown,  reading  the  paper.  He  was  pale,  languid,  and 
melancholy.  In  this  room  hung  the  Magic  Skin,  "fastened 
upon  a  background  of  white  surrounded  by  a  red  line.  Since 
that  carouse,  Raphael  had  stifled  the  least  wish,  and  had  lived 
so  as  not  to  cause  the  slightest  shrinkage  in  the  terrible  talisman. 
The  Magic  Skin  was  hke  a  tiger  with  which  he  must  live  without 
exciting  its  ferocity." 

The  old  tutor  had  come  to  entreat  Raphael's  influence  in 
securing  employment.  The  latter  said  thoughtlessly,  "I  wish 
you  may  succeed";  and  then  suddenly  gave  a  terrible  cr)'^,  as 
he  noticed  a  tiny  space  come  between  the  skin  and  the  red  line. 

At  the  opera,  that  night,  Raphael  saw  the  old  merchant  in 
the  guise  of  an  antiquated  coxcomb.     He  laughed  at  Raphael 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  63 

in  derision.  The  unhappy  man  also  saw  the  Countess  Foedora 
and  others;  but  he  had  vowed  to  pay  no  special  heed  to  any 
woman,  and  he  used  an  opera-glass  that  distorted  everything 
on  which  it  was  turned.  Close  beside  him  sat  a  lovely  woman 
in  a  charming  costume,  who  insisted  on  attracting  his  attention. 

"Pauline!"  he  said  to  her  at  last. 

''Monsieur  Raphael!" 

She  asked  him  to  come  to  his  old  lodging.  He  agreed ;  and 
when  he  got  there  he  learned  that  Madame  Gaudin  had  become 
a  wealthy  baroness.  Pauline  met  him  here  for  the  sake  of  old 
associations  and  sentiment.  Raphael  now  discovered  that  he 
loved  Pauline,  and  that  she  had  always  loved  him  and  made 
many  sacrifices  for  him  in  her  days  of  poverty. 

"You  shall  be  my  wife,"  said  Raphael.  "A  new  hfe  seems 
to  begin  for  me.  The  cruel  past  and  my  wretched  follies  are 
hardly  more  to  me  than  evil  dreams.  At  your  side,  I  breathe 
an  atmosphere  of  happiness  and  I  am  pure.  Be  with  me 
always,"  he  added,  pressing  her  solemnly  to  his  beating  heart. 

"Death  may  come  when  it  will,"  said  Pauline  in  ecstasy; 
"I  have  lived!" 

Pauline's  carriage  first  took  them  to  Raphael's  house,  where 
she  agreed  to  marry  him  within  a  fortnight,  and  then  to  her 
father's  home  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare.  When  Valentin  re- 
turned home,  "with  as  much  happiness  in  his  heart  as  mortal 
man  can  know,"  he  looked  at  the  Magic  Skin;  it  had  shrunk  a 
little! 

"Good  God!"  he  cried,  "every  wish!  Every  desire  of 
mine!    Poor  Pauline!" 

He  measured  the  shrinkage. 

"I  have  hardly  enough  for  two  months!"  A  cold  perspira- 
tion broke  out.  He  seized  the  talisman  in  a  burst  of  rage,  ran 
down-stairs,  and  threw  it  into  a  well. 

"The  devil  take  this  nonsense!" 

So  Raphael  gave  himself  up  to  the  happiness  of  loving  and 
being  beloved  by  Pauline. 

The  marriage  was  postponed  till  March.  One  morning  in 
February,  while  Pauline  was  breakfasting  with  Raphael,  the 
gardener  begged  permission  to  enter  and  handed  his  master  a 
curiosity  that  he   had   found — a  piece  of  leather,  six  inches 


64  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

square!  It  was  the  inexorable  talisman!  Raphael's  alarm 
terrified  Pauline.  She  left  him  in  tears,  and  he  went  to  consult 
the  learned.  The  various  men  of  science  that  he  called  upon 
examined  the  piece  of  leather  and  had  various  theories;  they 
could  not  stretch  it,  however.  Raphael  returned  home  and 
replaced  the  Magic  Skin  in  its  old  frame,  drawing  a  new  line  in 
red  ink  around  it.  To  his  surprise,  Pauline  returned.  She 
remained  all  night,  and  was  terrified  by  his  ominous  cough  and 
more  ominous  words.  A  few  days  later,  four  physicians  stood 
around  Raphael,  feeling  his  pulse  and  plying  him  with  questions. 
His  last  hope  lay  in  this  consultation.  This  court  of  appeal 
was  about  to  pronounce  its  decision — life  or  death.  Valentin 
had  summoned  the  oracles  of  modern  medicine,  so  that  he  might 
have  the  last  word  of  science.  Valentin's  observation  could 
discover  no  trace  of  a  feeling  for  his  troubles  in  any  of  the  three 
doctors — Brisset,  Maugredie,  and  Camdristus;  but  Bianchon's 
face  showed  grave  compassion.  He  had  been  a  doctor  for 
too  short  a  time  to  be  untouched  by  suffering  and  unmoved  by 
a  death-bed. 

The  four  doctors  went  into  Raphael's  study  to  discuss  the 
case  and  reach  the  verdict. 

A  trip  to  Savoy  was  advised,  and  a  month  later  Raphael  was 
at  Aix.  Here  he  met  the  usual  collection  of  invalids  and 
pleasure-seekers  drinking  the  waters,  selfish  and  callous  to  one 
another's  comfort.  The  resident  physician  gave  him  great 
encouragement.  Several  young  men,  taking  a  dislike  to  him, 
picked  a  quarrel ;  and  as  Raphael  would  not  heed  an  old  gentle- 
woman's warning,  he  fell  into  the  trap  and  had  to  fight  a  duel. 
He  was  accompanied  to  the  field  by  the  faithful  Jonathan. 
Raphael  begged  his  antagonist  to  apologize,  telling  him  that  he 
possessed  a  terrible  power,  but  did  not  wish  to  use  it,  for  the  use 
of  it  cost  too  dear.  The  man  refused,  and  Raphael's  ball  went 
straight  to  his  heart.  Raphael  did  not  heed  the  fallen  man ;  he 
hurriedly  pulled  out  the  Magic  Skin  to  see  what  the  man's  life 
had  cost  him.  The  talisman  was  the  size  of  a  small  oak- 
leaf! 

Raphael  now  went  to  Auvergne.  Power  leaves  us  just  as 
it  finds  us;  only  great  natures  grow  greater  by  its  means. 
Raphael  had  had  everything  in  his  power,  and  he  had  done 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  65 

nothing.  After  a  brief  stay  in  a  peasant's  cottage,  trying  to 
regain  health,  Raphael  returned  to  Paris. 

"Go  and  find  Bianchon,"  he  said  to  Jonathan. 

Dr.  Bianchon  told  Jonathan  that  Raphael's  mind  should 
be  diverted;  and  at  Raphael's  request  gave  him  an  opiate. 
Jonathan  diverted  him.  The  servant  one  day  conducted  his 
master  into  the  great  gallery.  Here  was  a  banquet;  here  were 
beautiful  women;  here  were  voices  and  perfume  and  music. 
Raphael  uttered  a  cry,  and  struck  his  old  servant  in  the  face. 
It  was  midnight.  Raphael  rushed  to  his  room  and  took  his 
opiate.  In  his  deep  sleep,  youth  seemed  to  return.  He  dreamed 
of  Pauline;  and,  waking,  found  her  beside  him. 

"Go!  go!"  he  muttered;  "if  you  stay  I  shall  die!" 

From  his  pillow,  he  drew  a  small  bit  of  leather,  tiny  as  a 
periwinkle  petal. 

"Pauline,"  he  said,  showing  it  to  her,  "let  us  say  farewell! 
This  talisman  grants  all  my  wishes  and  represents  my  span  of 
life.  If  you  look  at  me  any  longer,  I  shall  die!"  She  took  it 
in  her  hand.  No  longer  able  to  control  his  thoughts,  he  called 
to  her  in  love  and  longing,  and  the  leather  contracted  in  her 
hand.  Pauline  fled  from  him  into  the  next  room,  locked  the 
door  and  tried  to  strangle  herself.  The  dying  man  rushed 
after  her,  and  attempted  to  embrace  her.  Jonathan  appeared, 
terrified,  and  ran  to  tear  away  the  dead  body  from  Pauline's 
grasp. 

"He  is  mine.  I  have  killed  him,"  she  said;  "did  I  not 
foresee  what  would  happen?" 

"  And  what  became  of  Pauline?" 

"Pauline.  Ah!  Pauline  is  the  queen  of  illusions,  radiant 
as  an  angel,  flower  of  the  flame,  sparkle  of  the  diamond — 
sylph,  naiad,  siren,  the  child  of  sun  and  river,  air  and  cloud." 

"How  about  Foedora?" 

"Oh,  Foedora!  You  are  sure  to  meet  her.  She  will  go  to 
the  opera  this  evening,  and  if  you  like  to  take  it  so,  she  is 
Society!" 


A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 5 


A  WOMAN  OF  THIRTY  (1832) 
(Une  Femme  de  Trente  Ans) 

This  work  is  composed  of  six  separate  stories:  I.  Early  Mistakes;  II. 
Hidden  Griefs;  III.  At  Thirty  Years;  IV.  The  Finger  of  God;  V.  Two  Meetings; 
and  VI.  The  Old  Age  of  a  Guilty  Mother.  At  first,  the  names  of  the  characters 
were  different  in  these  disconnected  tales,  which  appeared  in  various  periodicals 
at  various  times.  In  1842,  Balzac  changed  the  names  of  the  individuals,  so 
that  all  the  adventures  should  be  given  to  the  same  set  of  characters.  One 
heroine,  Julie  d'Aiglemont,  links  the  stories.  In  1834,  Balzac  told  Madame 
Hanska  that  Souffrances  Inconnues  ("Hidden  Griefs"),  the  second  story  of 
this  group,  cost  him  four  months  of  work.  He  dated  this  novel  1828-1844.  It 
belongs  to  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Frivee  of  the  Comedie  Humaine. 


EARLY  MISTAKES 

{NE  Sunday  morning,  early  in  April,  1813,  a 
luxurious  cabriolet,  drawn  by  two  spirited  horses, 
stopped  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  and  a  prematurely 
aged  duke  assisted  his  youthful  daughter  Julie 
to  alight.  Before  setting  out  upon  the  disas- 
trous campaign  in  which  Napoleon  was  to  lose 
first  Bessieres  and  then  Duroc,  afterward  winning 
the  battles  of  Lutzen  and  Bautzen,  only  to  see 
himself  deserted  by  Austria,  Saxony,  Bavaria, 
and  Bernadotte,  and  meeting  defeat  on  the  sanguinary  field 
of  Leipsic,  he  was  holding  a  brilliant  review  of  the  flower  of 
his  troops  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Tuileries.  Though  they 
were  somewhat  late  in  arriving,  an  advantageous  position  for 
seeing  the  review  was  secured  for  the  Duke  and  his  daughter 
by  the  Count  d'Aiglemont,  a  young  and  dashing  colonel  of 
cavalry.  Julie's  manifest  interest  in  the  latter  betrayed  to  her 
father  the  secret  of  her  love.  The  latter  warned  her  against  a 
man  who  was  a  spendthrift  and  without  ability,  who  was 
created  to  eat  and  digest  four  meals  a  day,  to  sleep,  to  fall  in 
love  with  the  first  woman  at  hand,  and  to  fight.  He  said :  "  You 
are  still  too  young,  too  fragile,  too  delicate  for  the  cares  and 

66 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  67 

rubs  of  married  life.  D'Aiglcmont's  relatives  have  spoiled  him 
just  as  your  mother  and  I  have  spoiled  you.  What  hope  is 
there  that  you  two  could  agree,  with  two  imperious  wills  dia- 
metrically opposed?  You  will  be  either  the  tyrant  or  the 
victim,  and  either  alternative  means  for  a  wife  an  equal  sum  of 
misfortune." 

Nearly  a  year  later,  a  calhche  was  rolling  along  the  high- 
road from  Amboisc  to  Tours.  During  a  halt  to  repair  some 
slight  mishap  to  the  harness,  Colonel  d'Aiglcmont  woke  his 
wife,  Julie,  to  admire  the  fine  view  of  the  Loire.  She  complied 
with  supreme  indifference.  Evidently  she  had  had  her  way 
with  her  father,  to  her  misfortune.  An  English  aristocrat,  who, 
with  all  the  other  English  in  France,  was  detained  by  Napoleon 
by  way  of  reprisals  for  the  violation  of  the  Treaty  of  Amiens, 
was  passing  at  the  moment  and  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  the 
youthful  bride.  When  the  carriage  proceeded,  he  had  the 
temerity  to  turn  his  horse  and  follow.  On  reaching  Tours, 
Colonel  d'Aiglcmont  left  his  wife  in  the  care  of  his  aunt,  the 
Marquise  de  Listomere-Landon.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the 
South  with  despatches  for  Soult  from  the  Emperor.  The  old 
Marquise  took  a  fancy  to  the  young  wife,  and  saw  that  JuHe 
was  not  happy.  She  discovered  that  the  girl  was  disenchanted 
and  that  the  full  extent  of  Victor's  emptiness  had  been 
revealed. 

The  persistent  Englishman  attracted  attention  by  passing 
the  house  every  day,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Julie. 

Victor  sent  his  wife  news  of  the  downfall  of  the  Empire  and 
the  capitulation  of  Paris.  He  had  gone  over  to  the  Bourbons, 
and  begged  her  to  join  him  at  Orleans,  sending  an  old  soldier 
as  escort.  All  the  way  she  heard  the  wheels  of  a  carriage 
following  hers;  and  at  Blois  she  found  that  the  occupant 
was  the  Englishman,  Arthur  Grenville.  At  Orleans  she  was 
stopped  and  put  under  guard  by  the  Prussians.  After  two 
hours,  however,  she  received  a  passport,  with  apologies  from 
the  General,  in  whose  company  was  Arthur  Grenville,  now 
wearing  a  British  uniform. 

Julie  reached  Paris  without  further  adventure,  and  found 
that  her  husband  had  become  a  general;  but  she  soon  suffered 
irreparable  loss  in  the  death  of  her  good  friend  the  Marquise. 


68  A  WOMAN   OF  THIRTY 

After  the  Hundred  Days,  Victor  was  appointed  lieutenant- 
general,  and  for  the  second  time  became  a  marquis;  but  his 
ambition  was  to  become  a  peer  of  France.  At  court,  thanks 
to  his  purely  external  qualifications,  he  was  in  favor  and  ac- 
cepted at  his  own  valuation.  At  home,  however,  he  was  more 
modest :  he  felt  that  his  young  wife  was  his  superior,  and  out  of 
this  respect  grew  an  influence  which  JuHe  was  unwillingly 
forced  to  wield.  She  became  her  husband's  adviser,  the 
director  of  his  actions  and  fortunes.  Her  instinct  told  her  that 
it  was  far  better  to  obey  a  man  of  talent  than  to  lead  a  fool. 
However,  she  suffered  much  in  silence.  Physical  weakness 
condemned  her  to  the  sofa,  as  a  rule;  but,  occasionally  she 
went  into  society,  where  her  fragile  beauty  and  magnificent 
voice  always  attracted  attention. 

In  1817  a  daughter  was  born,  and  for  two  years  maternal 
cares  made  life  less  hard ;  but  she  and  her  husband  necessarily 
lived  apart,  and  in  181 9  she  found  that  as  an  object  of  interest 
she  had  passed  out  of  his  hfe.  One  evening,  in  1820,  the 
Marquis  asked  her  to  attend  a  concert  at  Madame  de  Serizy's. 
Julie  consented,  and  triumphed  over  all  the  other  beautiful 
and  fashionable  women  in  the  Countess'  own  salon.  There 
she  saw  Lord  Grenville  again.  To  the  compliments  of  his 
friends,  the  Marquis  complained  bitterly  of  his  wife's  ill- 
health,  and  the  Englishman,  who  had  studied  medicine,  offered 
to  cure  her.  A  few  days  later  the  offer  was  accepted.  Madame 
d'Aiglemont  welcomed  the  hope  of  a  speedy  cure,  and  no  longer 
opposed  her  husband,  who  pressed  her  to  accept  the  young 
doctor's  offer.  Yet  she  declined  to  trust  herself  with  Lord 
Grenville,  knowing  that  he  cherished  for  herself  a  tender  interest, 
until  after  some  further  study;  but  at  least  she  felt  certain  that 
he  had  sufficient  generosity  to  bear  his  enforced  aloofness  from 
her  in  silence. 

One  evening  in  August,  1821,  the  two  were  climbing  the 
paths  in  the  crags  above  the  Chateau  of  Montcontour,  near 
which  they  had  first  met  seven  years  before.  JuHe  was  now  a 
new  creature:  her  face  glowed  with  health;  she  was  radiant 
with  smiles  and  she  felt  the  joy  of  living.  After  gazing  at  the 
lovely  view  of  the  Loire,  Julie  told  Arthur  that  all  the  pleasure 
she  had  she  owed  to  him:   he  had  restored  to  her  more  than 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  69 

health.  She  recognized  ihc  dehcacy  of  his  conduct,  but  it  was 
out  of  her  power  to  make  any  response.  In  return  for  his  de- 
votion, she  required  only  a  sacrifice  of  him:  he  must  leave 
France.  She  "was  likely  to  die  young  and  to  know  no  happi- 
ness; but,  with  loathing  in  her  voice,  she  added:  "Henceforth 
I  belong  to  him  no  longer." 

During  the  drive  to  Blois,  the  General,  who  had  freshly 
fallen  in  love  with  his  wife,  whose  youth  and  beauty  had  been 
restored,  pressed  to  her  side  like  a  lover.  She  repelled  his 
advances,  saying:  "Have  you  not,  as  it  is,  found  consolations 
which  duty  and  the  honor  of  both  and  (stronger  still)  which 
Nature  forbids  to  me?  Stay,"  she  added,  "you  carelessly  left 
three  letters  from  Madame  de  Serizy  in  a  drawer;  here  they  are. 
My  silence  about  this  matter  should  make  it  plain  to  you  that 
in  me  you  have  a  wife  who  has  plenty  of  indulgence  and  does 
not  exact  from  you  the  sacrifices  prescribed  by  the  law.  But 
I  have  thought  enough  to  see  that  the  roles  of  husband  and 
wife  are  quite  different,  and  that  the  wife  alone  is  predestined  to 
misfortune." 

Two  years  later,  the  General  and  Madame  d'Aiglemont,  who 
had  gone  their  separate  ways,  meeting  more  frequently  abroad 
in  society  than  at  home,  chanced  to  dine  with  a  friend.  The 
General  announced  his  intention  of  going  boar-hunting  for  a 
few  days.  He  had  hardly  departed  when  Lord  Grenville 
called.  They  had  not  met  since  the  farewell  at  the  Loire.  In 
utter  desperation,  he  had  called  to  see  Julie  for  the  last  time, 
and  the  accidental  dropping  of  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  showed 
his  intentions.  Juhe  was  deaf  to  his  entreaties,  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  General  suddenly  returned.  In  her  embarrass- 
ment, she  shut  Arthur  into  her  dressing-room.  The  General, 
however,  was  not  suspicious.  A  few  days  later,  he  asked  a 
friend  to  accompany  him  to  attend  Lord  Grenville's  funeral. 
The  friend  asked:  "Is  it  really  known  how  he  came  by  his 
death?" 

"His  man  says  that  he  spent  a  whole  night  sitting  on  some- 
body's window-sill  to  save  one  woman's  character,  and  it  has 
been  infernally  cold  lately." 

"Such  devotion  would  be  highly  creditable  to  one  of  us  old 
stagers;  but  Lord  Grenville  was  a  youngster,  and — an  Eng- 


70  A  WOMAN   OF  THIRTY 

lishman.     Englishmen    never    could    do    anything    like    any- 
body else." 

"Pooh!"  returned  D'Aiglemont,  "these  heroic  exploits  all 
depend  upon  the  woman  in  the  case,  and  it  certainly  was  not 
for  one  that  I  know  that  poor  Arthur  came  by  his  death." 


HIDDEN   GRIEFS 

The  Marquis  was  a  great  gambler.  His  lordship,  the 
papers  said,  was  in  Spain  with  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  and  be- 
yond a  doubt  her  ladyship  had  come  to  the  lonely  Chateau  of 
Saint-Lange,  on  the  skirts  of  Fontainebleau,  to  retrench  after 
a  run  of  ill-luck — so  ran  the  local  gossip.  She  Hved  in  seclusion 
with  her  little  daughter,  between  whom  and  herself  was  an 
ever-growing  antipathy.  H^lene  was  the  offspring  of  a  union 
abhorred  by  her  mother.  The  man  the  Marquise  had  really 
loved  had  been  young  and  generous;  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  the  world,  she  had  refused  herself  to  his  love  and  he  had  died 
"to  save  a  woman's  honor."  To  whom  could  she  speak  of  her 
misery?  Her  tears  would  be  an  offense  against  her  husband, 
the  origin  of  the  tragedy.  By  all  laws,  written  and  unwritten, 
she  was  bound  to  silence.  A  woman  would  have  enjoyed  the 
story;  a  man  would  have  schemed  for  his  own  benefit. 

Such  grief  as  hers  can  weep  freely  only  in  solitude  and  lone- 
liness :  she  must  die,  or  kill  something  within  her — perhaps  her 
own  conscience. 

The  village  cur6  was  persistent  in  calling  upon  the  recluse 
to  offer  the  consolations  of  rehgion,  and  at  length  succeeded  in 
obtaining  an  interview.  To  him,  finally,  she  bared  her  heart. 
She  told  him:  "My  poor  Httle  H^l^ne  is  her  father's  child,  the 
offspring  of  duty  and  of  chance.  In  me  she  finds  nothing  but 
the  affection  of  instinct,  the  woman's  natural  compassion  for 
the  child  of  her  womb.  Socially  speaking,  I  am  above  re- 
proach. Have  I  not  sacrificed  my  life  and  my  happiness  to  my 
child?  Her  cries  go  to  my  heart;  if  she  were  to  fall  into  the 
water,  I  should  spring  to  save  her,  but  she  is  not  in  my  heart. 

"Ah!  love  sets  me  dreaming  of  a  motherhood  far  greater 
and  more  complete.  In  a  vanished  dream  I  held  in  my  arms  a 
child  conceived  in  desire  before  it  was  begotten,  the  exquisite 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  71 

flower  of  life  that  blossoms  in  the  soul  before  it  sees  the  light  of 
day.  I  am  Hdlbnc's  mother  only  in  the  sense  that  I  brought 
her  forth.  When  she  needs  me  no  longer,  there  will  be  an  end 
of  my  motherhood ;  with  the  extinction  of  the  cause,  the  effects 
will  cease.  .  .  .  Oh,  when  Hdl^ne  speaks  to  me,  I  wish  that 
her  voice  were  different;  when  she  looks  into  my  face  I  wish 
that  she  had  other  eyes.  She  constantly  keeps  me  in  mind  of 
all  that  should  have  been  and  is  not.  I  cannot  bear  to  have 
her  near  me.  I  smile  at  her,  I  try  to  make  up  to  her  for  the 
real  affection  of  which  she  is  defrauded.  I  am  wretched, 
Monsieur,  too  wretched  to  live.  And  I  am  supposed  to  be  a 
pattern  wife.  And  I  have  committed  no  sins.  And  I  am  re- 
spected! I  have  fought  down  forbidden  love  which  sprang  up 
all  unawares  within  me;  but  if  I  have  kept  the  letter  of  the 
law,  have  I  kept  it  in  my  heart?  There  has  never  been  but 
one  here,"  she  said,  laying  her  right  hand  on  her  breast,  "one 
and  no  other;  and  my  child  feels  it.  Certain  looks  and  tones 
and  gestures  mold  a  child's  nature,  and  my  poor  little  one 
feels  no  thrill  of  love  in  the  arm  I  put  about  her,  no  tremor 
comes  into  my  voice,  no  softness  into  my  eyes  when  I  speak  to 
her  or  take  her  up.  She  looks  at  me,  and  I  cannot  endure  the 
reproach  in  her  eyes.  There  are  times  when  I  shudder  to 
think  that  some  day  she  may  be  my  judge  and  condemn  her 
mother  unheard.  Heaven  grant  that  hate  may  not  grow  up 
between  us!  Ah!  God  in  heaven,  rather  let  the  tomb  open 
for  me,  rather  let  me  end  my  days  here  at  Saint-Lange!  I 
want  to  go  back  to  the  world  where  I  shall  find  my  other  soul 
and  become  wholly  a  mother." 

On  seeing  a  meeting  between  mother  and  child,  the  priest 
was  able  to  fathom  the  depths  that  he  between  the  motherhood 
of  the  flesh  and  the  motherhood  of  the  heart.  He  said :  "  You 
are  right,  Madame,  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  you  were 
dead." 

In  October  the  Marquise  left  the  old  ch5,teau.  In  the  life 
of  leisure  at  Saint-Lange,  she  had  gradually  recovered  from 
her  grief,  and  grown  fair  and  fresh.  As  she  drove  through  the 
village  and  met  the  old  cure,  she  bowed  coldly  in  response  to  his 
farewell  greeting.  She  did  not  wish  to  see  him  again:  he  had 
judged  this  poor  Diana  of  Ephesus  only  too  well. 


72  A  WOMAN   OF  THIRTY 


AT  THIRTY  YEARS 

Charles  de  Vandenesse  was  a  man  of  about  thirty,  who  was 
considered  by  his  friends  to  have  a  briUiant  career  before  him. 
Just  before  he  was  about  to  depart  to  Italy  on  a  diplomatic 
mission,  he  attended  a  ball  given  by  Madame  Firmiani  to 
thank  her  for  introductions  to  important  friends  in  Naples.  In 
her  rooms  he  met  the  beautiful  Marquise  d'Aiglemont,  who  had 
now  reached  her  thirtieth  year.  He  was  irresistibly  attracted 
by  her  personal  and  intellectual  charms  and,  after  calling  at  her 
house,  indefinitely  postponed  his  departure.  Their  acquaint- 
anceship soon  ripened  into  passionate  love.  The  Marquise 
struggled  against  her  feelings  for  some  months,  saying  to  her- 
self: "I  will  be  faithful  to  him  who  died  for  me";  but  the  day 
came  when  she  capitulated. 

General  d'Aiglemont  came  in  at  the  very  moment  of  the 
confession  of  love. 

"The  ministry  has  gone  out,"  he  said;  "your  uncle  will  be 
in  the  new  cabinet,  so  you  stand  an  uncommonly  good  chance 
of  an  embassy,  Vandenesse." 

Charles  and  Julie  looked  at  each  other  and  blushed. 

"I  do  not  care  to  leave  Paris  now,"  Charles  said. 

"We  know  why,"  said  the  General,  with  a  knowing  look: 
"You  do  not  like  to  leave  your  uncle,  because  you  don't  want 
to  lose  your  chance  of  succeeding  to  the  title." 

The  Marquise  took  refuge  in  her  room,  and  passed  the  piti- 
less verdict  upon  her  husband :  "  His  stupidity  is  really  beyond 
anything." 

THE  FINGER  OF  GOD 

On  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  Charles  Vandenesse  and 
Julie  d'Aiglemont  were  strolling  along  the  boulevard  leading 
to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  accompanied  by  a  httle  brown-eyed 
maid  and  a  fair-skinned,  toddling  boy.  The  girl  was  sullen; 
but  the  others  were  ideally  happy.  Helene  refused  to  play 
with  her  little  brother  and  was  sharply  reproved  by  her  mother. 
Charles  danced  the  baby  in  his  arms  and  showered  kisses  upon 
him.    A  dehcately  fair  woman  radiant  with  smiles,  a  child  of 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  73 

love,  a  young  man  with  the  irresistible  charm  of  youth  and  a 
cloudless  sky,  left  nothing  wanting  in  nature  to  complete  a 
picture  of  perfect  harmony.  At  nine  o'clock  Charles  tenderly 
embraced  his  companion,  jumped  into  his  waiting  tilbury  and 
drove  away.  While  Julie  was  gazing  lovingly  after  him,  the 
little  boy  ran  down  to  the  bridge  and  asked  his  sister  why  she 
did  not  come  to  say  good-by.  She  gave  him  an  angry  push 
and  he  fell  into  the  muddy  river.  H^l^ne's  horrified  shrieks 
did  not  succeed  in  summoning  assistance  in  time  to  save  the 
child.  Had  Helfene  avenged  her  father?  Her  jealousy  surely 
was  the  sword  of  God. 

TVl^O  MEETINGS 

The  General  had  made  a  large  fortune  under  the  Restora- 
tion; and,  as  his  duties  would  not  allow  him  to  live  far  from 
the  court,  he  had  taken  a  charming  house  at  Versailles,  where 
he  lived,  with  his  wife,  his  beautiful  daughter,  Helene,  now 
seventeen,  and  three  other  children,  Gustave,  Abel,  and  Moina. 

One  night,  while  the  servants  were  absent  celebrating  the 
wedding  of  one  of  their  number,  the  General  himself  answered 
the  gate  at  the  loud  rapping  of  a  stranger,  who  demanded 
shelter  and  protection  for  two  hours.  Extraordinary  as  the 
request  was,  the  General  conducted  him  to  an  upper  room  and 
there  left  him.  In  a  few  minutes,  there  was  another  knockmg 
at  the  gate,  and  gendarmes  inquired  of  the  General  whether 
anything  had  been  seen  of  a  fugitive  murderer.  The  General 
respected  his  promise  of  protection  to  the  stranger,  and  the 
officers  departed.  On  the  expiration  of  the  two  hours,  the 
General  denounced  the  blood-stained  criminal.  The  word 
"murderer"  seemed  to  mark  an  epoch  in  Helene's  life;  there 
was  not  a  trace  of  surprise  in  her  face.  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  waiting  for  this — for  him.  Those  vast  thoughts  of 
hers  had  found  a  meaning.  The  punishment  reserved  by 
Heaven  for  her  sins  toward  little  Charles  flamed  out  before  her. 
In  her  own  eyes  she  was  as  great  a  criminal  as  this  murderer; 
she  confronted  him  with  her  quiet  gaze :  she  was  his  fellow,  his 
sister.  It  seemed  to  her  that  in  this  accident  God's  command 
had  been  made  manifest:   she  determined  to  throw  in  her  lot 


74  A   WOMAN   OF  THIRTY 

with  the  murderer  and  wipe  away  the  blood  with  her  devotion. 
A  terrible  scene  was  terminated  with  the  departure  of  the  pair. 

They  had  no  sooner  gone  than  the  General  realized  how  his 
daughter  had  been  goaded  into  the  action  she  had  taken.  He 
cursed  his  weakness  and  summoned  assistance  from  every 
direction  to  overtake  the  fugitives,  but  in  vain.  He  loaded  his 
wife  with  reproaches. 

That  terrible  Christmas  night,  when  the  murderer  stole 
Helene,  as  it  were,  was  like  a  warning  sent  by  fate.  The  Mar- 
quis was  ruined  by  the  failure  of  his  stockbroker;  he  borrowed 
money  on  his  wife's  property,  and  lost  it  trying  to  retrieve  his 
fortunes.  Driven  to  desperation,  he  left  France.  His  family 
heard  little  of  him  for  six  years,  when  the  Marquis  wrote  that 
he  was  coming  home.  So  one  fine  morning  a  Spanish  brig, 
with  several  French  merchants  on  board,  was  almost  within 
sight  of  Bordeaux.  Among  the  passengers  was  the  Marquis, 
who  was  wealthy  once  more.  The  joyful  anticipations  of  all 
were  dashed  by  the  approach  of  a  privateer,  which  rapidly  over- 
hauled them.  Treachery  on  board  made  resistance  useless ;  the 
brig  was  looted  and  the  passengers  were  thrown  overboard.  As 
the  Marquis  was  dragged  to  the  rail,  there  was  mutual  recog- 
nition between  him  and  the  captain  of  the  privateer.  It  was 
the  murderer,  with  whom  Helene  had  gone  away.  The  Mar- 
quis's life  was  saved.  He  was  taken  on  board  the  privateer, 
where  he  found  his  daughter  queen  of  the  vessel,  happy  and 
contented,  with  children  about  her  and  surrounded  with  the 
luxury  of  a  sultana.  She  declared  that  happiness  was  no  word 
to  express  such  bliss  as  hers.  In  her  husband's  heart  she  had 
found  an  infinite  love,  and  every  member  of  his  crew  was  her 
slave. 

The  Marquis  was  sent  ashore  in  a  boat,  with  lavish  gifts 
for  his  wife  and  children;  but  the  privations  he  had  undergone 
had  so  undermined  his  health  that  he  died  in  1833. 

Shortly  after  his  death,  the  Marquise,  to  satisfy  one  of  the 
capricious  whims  of  Moina,  took  her  to  a  watering-place  in  the 
Pyrenees.  A  child's  cries  kept  Moiina  awake  one  night.  The 
next  morning,  on  inquiry,  the  Marquise  learned  from  the  land- 
lady that  the  latter  had  taken  in  a  starving  woman  and  child, 
out  of  charity.     A  kindly  instinct  prompted  the  Marquise  to 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  75 

visit  the  sufferers;  and  in  the  mother  she  recognized  her  eldest 
daughter,  whose  babe  had  just  drawn  its  last  breath.  Moina 
came  in  and  saw  her  mother  holding  H^lbne's  ice-cold  hand. 
The  widowed  woman,  who  had  escaped  shipwreck  with  only 
one  of  her  children,  cried:  "All  this  is  your  work.     If  you  had 

but  been  for  me  all  that " 

"Your  sister,"  said  Madame  d'Aiglemont,  in  tears  to  Moina, 
"doubtless  meant  to  tell  you  that  a  girl  will  never  find  happi- 
ness in  a  romantic  life,  in  living  as  nobody  else  does,  and,  above 
all  things,  far  away  from  her  mother." 


THE   OLD   AGE   OF   A   GUILTY  MOTHER 

In  June,  1844,  a  lady  about  fifty  years  old  was  strolling  in 
the  grounds  of  one  of  the  finest  mansions  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain.  It  was  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont,  the  mother 
of  the  Comtesse  Moina  de  Saint-Hereen,  to  whom  she  had 
made  over  the  mansion  and  almost  her  whole  fortune,  reserving 
only  an  annuity  for  herself.  Moina  was  her  only  surviving 
child:  Gustave  had  died  of  cholera  and  Abel  had  fallen  in 
Algeria.  Morna,  beautiful  and  fascinating  from  childhood, 
was  her  mother's  favorite.  The  springs  of  the  Marquise's  life 
lay  in  that  young  heart.  The  spoiled  child  naturally  rewarded 
her  mother  with  rank  ingratitude.  She  seemed  to  take  pleasure 
in  humiliating  her  before  the  guests  who  called  or  were  being 
entertained.  The  Marquise  d'Aiglemont  bore  all  this  uncom- 
plainingly; but  in  the  absence  of  the  Comte  de  Saint-Hereen 
for  six  months  on  a  political  mission,  the  Comtesse  had  been 
amusing  herself  with  a  flirtation  with  the  shallow  Alfred  de 
Vandenesse,  and  would  pay  no  attention  to  her  mother's  warn- 
ings. But  if  Alfred  made  her  shudder  with  disgust,  the  un- 
happy mother  was  obliged  to  conceal  the  strongest  reason  for 
her  loathing  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  her  heart.  Alfred  was 
too  corrupt  and  Moina  too  clever  to  believe  such  a  revelation 
of  a  tie  of  blood :  the  young  Comtesse  would  only  turn  it  off  as 
a  piece  of  maternal  strategy.  Madame  d'Aiglemont  had  built 
her  prison-walls  with  her  own  hands ;  she  had  immured  herself 
only  to  see  Moina's  happiness  ruined  thence  before  she  died; 
she  was  to  look  on  helplessly  at  the  ruin  of  the  young  life  which 


76  A  WOMAN  OF  THIRTY 

had  been  her  pride  and  joy.  What  words  can  describe  anguish 
so  hideous  beyond  behef ,  such  unfathomed  depths  of  pain  ? 

Moina  was  late  rising  that  morning  and  met  her  mother's 
representations  of  the  dangers  she  was  running  with  cool  in- 
solence. Her  final  words  were,  with  a  forced  laugh :  "  Mamma, 
I  thought  you  were  only  jealous  of  the  father!" 

With  eyes  full  of  awful  majesty  and  profound  sorrow, 
Madame  d'Aiglemont  replied  in  a  hardly  recognizable  voice: 
"You  have  been  less  merciful  to  your  mother  than  he  against 
whom  she  sinned;  less  merciful,  perhaps,  than  God  Himself 
will  be." 

She  staggered  out  into  the  garden  and  fell.  Her  last  words 
were:  "Do  not  frighten  my  daughter!" 


LOUIS    LAMBERT  (1832) 

This  work,  in  which  Balzac  said  he  endeavored  "  to  strive  with  Goethe  and 
Byron,  with  Faust  and  Manfred,"  was  written  and  published  in  1832.  It 
first  appeared  in  a  book  called  Nouveaux  Contes  Philosophiques,  and  in  1833 
was  issued  alone  as  Histoire  Intellectuelle  de  Louis  Lambert.  In  1846,  it  was 
classified  with  the  Etudes  Philosophiques  in  the  Comedie  Humaine.  Much  of 
Louis  Lambert  is  autobiographical.  For  seven  years  Balzac  attended  a  school  in 
Venddme,  where  he  met  with  little  sympathy  and  endured  the  hardships  he 
describes  so  vividly.  He  preferred  omnivorous  reading  to  the  prescribed 
studies;  and  here  he  wrote  a  Treatise  on  the  Will,  which  one  of  the  masters 
burned.  It  may  be  noted  that  Balzac  places  Pauline  de  Villenoix  in  his  list  of 
irreproachable  women  included  in  his  Author's  Introduction  to  The  Human 
Comedy.  Louis  Lambert  may  be  said  to  form  a  kind  of  trilogy  with  The  Magic 
Skin  and  Seraphita.  It  was  published  between  these  other  two  metaphysical 
and  mystical  works. 


OUIS  LAMBERT  was  bom  in  1797  at  Montoire 
^'1  in  the  Vendomois,  where  his  father  was  a  small 
tanner.  His  parents,  who  adored  their  only 
child,  never  contradicted  him  in  anything.  At 
the  age  of  five  his  passion  for  reading  began 
with  the  Bible;  and  from  that,  till  the  age  of 
ten,  he  went  over  the  village  begging  for  books 
and  obtaining  them  by  winning  ways  pecuhar  to 
children.  At  that  period  substitutes  for  the  army 
were  scarce;  rich  people  secured  them  in  advance  for  their 
sons  when  the  lots  should  be  drawn;  but  the  tanner  was  not 
wealthy  enough  to  purchase  a  substitute  for  his  son,  and  the 
only  legal  means  of  evading  the  conscription  was  to  make  him 
a  priest;  so,  in  1807,  he  was  sent  to  his  maternal  uncle,  the 
parish  priest  of  Mer,  not  far  from  Blois.  After  a  stay  of  three 
years  with  his  uncle,  an  old  and  not  uncultured  Oratorian, 
Louis  left  him  in  181 1  to  enter  the  college  at  Vendome.  He 
was  accustomed  to  spend  at  home  the  time  that  his  uncle 
allowed  him  for  his  holidays,  setting  out  every  morning  with 
part  of  a  loaf  and  his  books  and  going  to  read  and  meditate  in 
the  woods,  to  escape  his  mother's  remonstrances;   for  she  be- 

77 


78  LOUIS   LAMBERT 

lieved  such  persistent  study  injurious.  Reading  was  in  Louis 
an  appetite  which  nothing  could  satisfy;  he  devoured  books  of 
every  kind.  The  cure  of  Mer  had  two  or  three  thousand 
volumes,  and  in  three  years  Louis  assimilated  the  contents  of 
all  the  books  that  were  worth  reading.  His  memory  was 
prodigious.  He  remembered  with  equal  exactitude  the  ideas 
he  had  derived  from  reading  and  those  which  had  occurred  to 
him  in  the  course  of  meditation  or  conversation.  He  had 
every  form  of  memory — for  places,  names,  words,  things,  and 
faces.  He  not  only  recalled  any  object  at  will,  but  he  saw  it 
in  his  mind,  situated,  hghted,  and  colored  as  he  had  originally 
seen  it;  and  this  power  he  could  exert  with  equal  effect  with 
regard  to  the  most  abstract  efforts  of  the  intellect. 

A  strong  predilection  for  mystical  studies  was  due  to  the 
influence  of  the  first  books  he  read  at  his  uncle's.  Saint  Theresa 
and  Madame  Guyon  were  a  sequel  to  the  Bible;  they  accus- 
tomed him  to  those  swift  reactions  of  the  soul  of  which  ecstasy 
is  at  once  the  result  and  the  means. 

Madame  de  Stael,  forbidden  by  Napoleon  to  approach  Paris 
within  forty  leagues,  spent  a  part  of  her  exile  near  Vendome. 
One  day,  while  walking  in  the  park,  she  chanced  upon  the 
ragged  tanner's  son  absorbed  in  a  translation  of  Heaven  and 
Hell.  At  that  time  Swedenborg  was  known  to  very  few  writers 
even,  and  the  lady  in  astonishment  asked  Louis  in  her  rough  way : 

"Do  you  understand  all  this?" 

"Do  you  pray  to  God?"  he  asked  in  reply. 

"Why,  yes." 

"And  do  you  understand  Him?" 

Madame  de  Stael  was  reduced  to  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  began  to  question  him.  On  her  return  home,  she  said: 
"He  is  a  real  seer."  She  determined  to  save  Louis  from  serving 
the  Emperor  or  the  Church,  and  to  preserve  him  for  the  glori- 
ous destiny  which  she  thought  awaited  him.  Before  leaving 
the  neighborhood,  therefore,  she  instructed  a  friend  of  hers. 
Monsieur  de  Corbigny,  to  send  her  Moses  in  due  course  to  the 
high  school  at  Vend6me.  Then  she  probably  forgot  him.  A 
hundred  louis  which  she  placed  in  the  hands  of  M.  de 
Corbigny,  who  died  in  1812,  was  not  sufficient  to  leave  lasting 
memories  in  Madame  de  Stael. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  79 

Louis  entered  the  college  in  181 1  at  the  age  of  fourteen. 
When  he  left  it,  three  years  later,  he  was  too  poor  to  go  in  search 
of  a  patroness  who  was  traveling  over  Europe.  However,  he 
went  on  foot  from  Blois  to  Paris  in  the  hope  of  seeing  her,  and 
arrived,  unluckily,  on  the  very  day  of  her  death. 

When  Louis  arrived  at  the  college,  I  was  twelve  years  of 
age  and  was  passionately  addicted  to  reading.  My  father,  who 
was  ambitious  to  see  mc  in  the  Ecole  Polytechnique,  paid  for 
me  to  have  a  special  course  of  private  lessons  in  mathematics. 
My  mathematical  master  was  the  librarian  of  the  college,  and 
allowed  me  to  help  myself  to  books  without  much  caring  what 
I  chose  to  take  from  the  library,  a  quiet  spot  where  I  went  to 
him  during  play-hours  to  have  my  lesson.  Either  he  was  no 
great  mathematician,  or  he  was  absorbed  in  some  grand  scheme, 
for  he  very  willingly  left  me  to  read  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
learning,  while  he  worked  at  I  knew  not  what.  So,  by  a  tacit 
understanding  between  us,  I  made  no  complaints  of  being 
taught  nothing,  and  he  said  nothing  of  the  books  I  borrowed. 

I  neglected  my  studies  to  compose  poems.  In  derision  of 
such  attempts,  I  was  nicknamed  the  Poet;  but  mockery  did 
not  cure  me.  I  became  the  least  emulous,  the  idlest,  the  most 
dreamy  of  "little  boys";  and,  consequently,  the  most  fre- 
quently punished.  ...  I  felt  sympathy  from  the  first  for  the 
boy  whose  temperament  had  some  points  of  likeness  to  my  own. 

After  three  months  at  school,  Louis  was  looked  upon  as  an 
ordinary  scholar.  I  alone  was  allowed  really  to  know  that 
sublime  soul.  The  similarity  of  our  tastes  made  us  friends 
and  chums;  our  intimacy  was  so  brotherly  that  our  school- 
fellows joined  our  names;  one  was  never  spoken  without  the 
other,  and  to  call  either  they  always  shouted  "Poet-and- 
Pythagoras." 

Louis  never  earned  the  rest  of  playtime;  he  always  had 
impositions  to  write.  The  imposition  consisted  at  Vendome 
of  a  certain  number  of  lines  to  be  written  out  in  play-hours. 
Lambert  and  I  were  so  overpowered  with  impositions  that  we 
had  not  six  free  days  during  the  two  years  of  our  school  friend- 
ship. We  incurred  the  infliction  in  a  thousand  ways.  Our 
memories  were  so  good  that  we  never  learned  a  lesson.  It  was 
enough  for  either  of  us  to  hear  our  class-fellows  repeat  the  task 


So  LOUIS  LAMBERT 

in  French,  Latin,  or  grammar,  and  we  could  say  it  when  our 
turn  came;  but  if  the  master,  unfortunately,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  reverse  the  usual  order  and  call  upon  us  first,  we  very 
often  did  not  even  know  what  the  lesson  was. 

Our  independence,  our  illicit  amusements,  our  apparent 
waste  of  time,  our  persistent  indifference,  our  frequent  punish- 
ments and  aversion  for  our  exercises  and  impositions,  earned  us 
a  reputation,  which  no  one  cared  to  controvert,  for  being  an 
idle  and  incorrigible  pair.  Our  masters  treated  us  with  con- 
tempt, and  we  fell  into  utter  disgrace  with  our  companions, 
from  whom  we  concealed  our  secret  studies  for  fear  of  being 
laughed  at.  We  could  neither  play  ball,  nor  run  races,  nor 
walk  on  stilts.  On  exceptional  holidays,  when  amnesty  was 
proclaimed  and  we  got  a  few  hours  of  freedom,  we  shared  in 
none  of  the  popular  diversions  of  the  school.  Aliens  from  the 
pleasures  enjoyed  by  the  others,  we  were  outcasts,  sitting  for- 
lorn under  a  tree  in  the  playground. 

Louis  was  a  spiritualist.  His  considerations  on  the  sub- 
stance of  the  mind  led  to  his  accepting  with  a  certain  pride  the 
life  of  privation  to  which  we  were  condemned.  His  passion 
for  mystery  often  led  us  to  discuss  Heaven  and  Hell.  Then 
Louis,  by  expounding  Swedenborg,  would  try  to  make  me  share 
his  beliefs  concerning  angels.  To  him  pure  love  was  the  coa- 
lescence of  two  angelic  natures.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  fer- 
vency with  which  he  longed  to  meet  a  woman  angel.  And  who 
better  than  he  could  inspire  love  or  feel  it?  If  anything  could 
give  an  impression  of  an  exquisite  nature,  was  it  not  the 
amiability  and  kindliness  that  marked  his  feelings,  words, 
actions,  and  slightest  gestures? 

On  one  occasion,  after  discussing  man's  twofold  nature, 
he  announced  his  intention  of  studying  the  chemistry  of  the 
Will.  The  treatise  that  he  wrote  on  the  subject  was  con- 
fiscated and  destroyed  as  rubbish  by  a  malicious  tutor. 

When  I  subsequently  read  the  observations  made  by  Bichat 
on  the  duality  of  our  external  senses,  I  was  bewildered  at  recog- 
nizing the  startling  coincidences  between  the  views  of  that 
celebrated  physiologist  and  those  of  Louis.  If  Lambert  had 
no  other  title  to  fame  than  the  fact  of  his  having  formulated,  in 
his  sixteenth  year,  such  a  physiological  dictum  as  this,  "The 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  8i 

events  which  bear  witness  to  the  action  of  the  human  race  and 
are  the  outcome  of  its  intellect  have  causes  by  which  they  are 
preconceived — as  our  actions  are  accomplished  in  our  minds 
before  they  are  reproduced  by  the  outer  man;  presentiments 
or  predictions  are  the  perception  of  these  causes,"  I  think  we 
may  deplore  in  him  the  loss  of  a  genius  equal  to  Pascal, 
Lavoisier,  or  Laplace.  His  notions  about  angels  perhaps  over- 
ruled his  work  too  long;  but  was  it  not  in  trying  to  make  gold 
that  the  alchemists  unconsciously  created  chemistry? 

Six  months  after  the  confiscation  of  the  treatise,  I  left 
school;  my  mother,  alarmed  by  a  fever,  carried  me  home  at  a 
few  hours'  notice,  and  the  announcement  of  my  departure  re- 
duced Lambert  to  dreadful  dejection. 

I  had  seen  nothing  of  the  first  phase  of  his  brain  develop- 
ment— up  to  his  thirteenth  year.  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
witness  the  first  stage  of  the  second  period.  Lambert  was  cast 
into  all  the  miseries  of  school-Hfe — and  that,  perhaps,  was  his 
salvation,  for  it  absorbed  the  superabundance  of  his  thoughts. 
After  passing  from  concrete  ideas  to  their  purest  expression, 
from  words  to  their  ideal  import,  and  from  that  import  to 
principles,  after  reducing  everything  to  the  abstract,  to  enable 
him  to  live  he  yearned  for  still  other  intellectual  creations. 
Quelled  by  the  woes  of  school  and  the  critical  development  of 
his  physical  constitution,  he  became  thoughtful,  dreamed  of 
feeling,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  new  sciences — positively  masses 
of  ideas.  Checked  in  his  career,  and  not  yet  strong  enough  to 
contemplate  the  higher  spheres,  he  contemplated  his  inmost 
self.  I  then  perceived  in  him  the  struggle  of  the  Mind  reacting 
on  itself,  and  trying  to  detect  the  secrets  of  its  own  nature,  like 
a  physician  who  watches  the  course  of  his  own  disease. 

The  third  phase  I  was  not  destined  to  see.  It  began  when 
Lambert  and  I  were  parted,  for  he  did  not  leave  college  till  he 
was  eighteen,  in  the  summer  of  1815.  He  had  at  that  time 
lost  his  father  and  mother  about  six  months  before.  Finding 
no  member  of  his  family  with  whom  his  soul  could  sympathize, 
expansive  still,  but,  since  our  parting,  thrown  back  on  himself, 
he  made  his  home  with  his  uncle,  who  was  also  his  guardian, 
and  who,  having  been  turned  out  of  his  benefice  as  a  priest  who 
had  taken  the  oaths,  had  come  to  settle  at  Blois.     There  Louis 

A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 6 


82  LOUIS  LAMBERT 

lived  for  some  time;  but,  consumed  by  the  desire  to  finish  his 
incomplete  studies,  he  came  to  Paris  to  see  Madame  de  Stael, 
and  to  drink  of  science  at  its  highest  fount.  The  old  priest, 
being  ver}'  fond  of  his  nephew,  left  Louis  free  to  spend  his  whole 
little  inheritance  in  his  three  years'  stay  in  Paris,  though  he 
lived  ver}'  poorly. 

Lambert  returned  to  Blois  at  the  beginning  of  1820,  driven 
from  Paris  by  the  sufferings  to  which  struggling  genius  is  ex- 
posed there.  Judging  by  the  letters  his  uncle  received,  he  was 
often  a  victim  to  the  secret  storms  and  terrible  mental  anguish 
by  which  artists  are  racked.  His  feelings,  perpetually  wounded 
in  the  Parisian  whirlpool  of  self-interest,  were  constantly  lac- 
erated. He  had  no  friend  to  comfort  him,  no  enemy  to  give 
tone  to  his  life.  Compelled  to  live  in  himself  alone,  having  no 
one  to  share  his  subtle  raptures,  he  hoped  to  solve  the  problem 
of  his  destiny  by  a  Hfe  of  ecstasy,  adopting  an  almost  vegetative 
attitude,  like  an  anchorite  of  the  early  Church. 

In  the  longest  of  these  letters,  he  complains  to  his  uncle  that 
his  long  and  patient  study  of  Parisian  society  has  brought  him 
to  melancholy  conclusions.  "Here  money  is  the  mainspring 
of  everything.  .  .  .  But  though  that  dross  is  necessary  to  any- 
one who  wishes  to  think  in  peace,  I  have  not  coucage  enough 
to  make  it  the  sole  motive  power  of  my  thoughts.  I  am  abso- 
lutely devoid  of  the  constant  attention  indispensable  to  the 
making  of  a  fortune.  .  .  .  The  man  who  gives  his  life  to  the 
achievement  of  great  things  in  the  sphere  of  intellect  needs 
very  Httle;  still,  though  twenty  sous  a  day  would  be  enough,  I 
do  not  possess  that  small  income  for  my  laborious  idleness. 
When  I  wish  to  cogitate,  want  drives  me  out  of  the  sanctuary 
where  my  mind  has  its  being.  .  .  .  Ever}'thing  here  checks  the 
flight  of  a  spirit  that  strives  toward  the  future.  .  .  .  The  poet's 
sensitive  nerves  are  perpetually  shocked,  and  what  should  be 
his  glory  becomes  his  torment;  his  imagination  is  his  crudest 
enemy.  The  injured  workman,  the  poor  mother  in  childbed, 
the  prostitute  who  has  fallen  ill,  the  foundling,  the  infirm  and 
aged — even  vice  and  crime  here  find  a  refuge  and  a  charity; 
but  the  world  is  merciless  to  the  inventor,  to  the  man  who 
thinks.  Fruitless  attempts  are  mocked  at,  though  they  may 
lead  to  the  greatest  discoveries;    the  deep  and  untiring  study 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  83 

that  demands  long  concentration  of  every  faculty  is  not  valued 
here.  The  State  might  pay  talent  as  it  pays  the  bayonet,  .  .  . 
Ah,  my  dear  uncle,  vv^hen  monastic  solitude  was  destroyed,  up- 
rooted from  its  home  at  the  foot  of  mountains,  under  green  and 
silent  shade,  asylums  ought  to  have  been  provided  for  those 
suffering  souls  who,  by  an  idea,  promote  the  progress  of  nations, 
or  prepare  some  new  and  fruitful  development  of  science." 

Louis  proceeded  to  animadvert  on  the  methods  of  the  In- 
stitute and  the  condition  of  science,  art,  politics,  and  religion. 
He  was  troubled  by  the  problems  of  philosophical  science;  the 
roots  of  the  past  and  their  inseparability  from  the  future;  deism 
and  atheism;  and  the  transmission  of  animal  faculties.  He 
concluded:  "Any  man  who  plunges  into  those  religious  waters, 
of  which  the  sources  are  not  all  known,  will  find  proofs  that 
Zoroaster,  Moses,  Buddha,  Confucius,  Jesus  Christ,  and 
Swedenborg  had  identical  principles  and  aimed  at  identical 
ends.  .  .  .  The  last  of  them  all,  Swedenborg,  will  perhaps  be 
the  Buddha  of  the  north.  His  theocracy  is  sublime,  and  his 
creed  is  the  only  acceptable  one  to  superior  souls.  He  alone 
brings  man  into  immediate  communion  with  God;  he  gives  a 
thirst  for  God;  he  has  freed  the  majesty  of  God  from  the  trap- 
pings in  which  other  human  dogmas  have  disguised  Him. 
Swedenborg  has  absolved  God  from  the  reproach  attaching  to 
Him  in  the  estimation  of  tender  souls  for  the  perpetuity  of  re- 
venge to  punish  the  sin  of  a  moment.  Each  man  may  know 
for  himself  what  hope  he  has  of  life  eternal,  and  whether  this 
world  has  any  rational  sense.  I  mean  to  make  the  attempt, 
and  this  attempt  may  save  the  world  just  as  much  as  the  cross 
at  Jerusalem  or  the  sword  at  Mecca.  These  were  both  the 
offspring  of  the  desert.     And  I,  too,  crave  for  the  desert!" 

When  Louis  returned  to  Blois,  his  uncle  was  eager  to  pro- 
cure him  some  amusement;  but  in  that  godly  town  the  revolu- 
tionary priest  who  had  taken  the  oaths  of  allegiance  was  almost 
a  social  leper.  His  only  acquaintances  were  those  of  liberal, 
patriotic,  or  constitutional  opinions,  on  whom  he  occasionally 
called  for  a  rubber  of  whist. 

The  first  household  into  which  Louis  was  introduced  was 
presided  over  by  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  Pauline  de  Ville- 
noix,  sole  heiress  to  a  Jew,  who,  in  his  old  age,  had  married  a 


84  LOUIS  LAMBERT 

Roman  Catholic.  As  soon  as  Louis  saw  the  lovely  young 
Jewess,  he  discerned  the  angel  within.  With  the  rich  powers 
of  his  soul  and  his  tendency  to  ecstatic  reverie,  every  faculty 
within  him  was  at  once  concentrated  in  boundless  love,  the  first 
love  of  a  young  man.  When  an  accident  threw  me  in  the  way 
of  his  uncle,  the  good  man  showed  me  into  the  room  in  which 
Lambert  had  at  that  time  lived. 

Among  his  papers  I  found  five  letters.  .  .  .  He  had 
probably  written  his  love-letters  twice  over.  In  these  each  line 
was  evidently  the  result  of  a  reverie,  and  each  word  the  subject 
of  long  cogitation,  while  the  most  unrestrained  passion  shone 
through  all.  The  last  paragraphs  of  the  final  letter  read  as 
follows : 

"To-morrow,  then,  our  love  is  to  be  made  known!  Oh, 
Pauline!  the  eyes  of  others,  the  curiosity  of  strangers,  weigh 
on  my  soul.  Let  us  go  to  Villenoix,  and  stay  there  far  from 
everyone.  I  should  like  no  creature  in  human  form  to  intrude 
into  the  sanctuary  where  you  are  to  be  mine;  I  could  even 
wish  that,  when  we  are  dead,  it  should  cease  to  exist — should 
be  destroyed.  Yes,  I  would  fain  hide  from  all  nature  a  hap- 
piness which  we  alone  can  understand,  alone  can  feel,  which  is 
so  stupendous  that  I  throw  myself  into  it  only  to  die — it  is  a 
gulf!  Do  not  be  alarmed  by  the  tears  that  have  wetted  this 
page ;  they  are  tears  of  joy.  My  only  blessing,  we  need  never 
part  again!" 

In  1823  I  traveled  from  Paris  to  Touraine  by  diligence. 
At  Mer  we  took  up  a  passenger  for  Blois.  .  .  .  On  hearing 
the  name  (Monsieur  Lefebvre)  and  seeing  a  white-haired  old 
man,  who  appeared  to  be  eighty  at  least,  I  naturally  thought 
of  Lambert's  uncle,  and  I  discovered  that  I  was  not  mistaken. 
I  then  asked  for  some  news  of  my  old  chum. 

"Then  you  have  not  heard  his  story,"  said  he.  "My  poor 
nephew  was  to  be  married  to  the  richest  heiress  in  Blois;  but 
the  day  before  his  wedding  he  went  mad." 

From  M.  Lefebvre's  account,  Lambert  had  betrayed 
some  symptoms  of  madness  before  marriage,  but  they  were 
such  as  are  common  to  men  who  love  passionately,  and 
seemed  to  me  less  startling  when  I  knew  how  vehement  his 
love  had  been  and  when  I  saw  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix.  .  .  . 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  85 

The  most  serious  symptom  had  supervened  a  day  or  two  before 
the  marriage.  Louis  had  had  some  well-marked  attacks  of 
catalepsy.  He  had  once  remained  motionless  fifty-nine  hours, 
with  his  eyes  staring;  a  purely  nervous  affection,  to  which 
persons  under  the  influence  of  violent  passion  arc  liable.  What 
was  really  extraordinary  was  that  Louis  should  not  have  had 
several  previous  attacks,  since  his  habits  of  rapt  thought  and 
the  character  of  his  mind  would  predispose  him  to  them. 
Time  was  when  Lambert  and  I  had  admired  this  phenomenon 
of  the  human  mind,  in  which  he  saw  the  fortuitous  separation 
of  our  two  natures,  and  the  signs  of  a  total  removal  of  the  inner 
man  using  its  unknown  faculties  under  the  operation  of  an  un- 
known cause. 

"When  this  attack  had  passed  off,"  said  M.  Lefebvre,  "my 
nephew  sank  into  a  state  of  extreme  terror,  a  dejection 
that  nothing  could  overcome.  He  thought  himself  unfit  for 
marriage.  I  at  once  carried  him  off  to  Paris.  All  through  our 
journey,  Louis  was  sunk  in  almost  unbroken  torpor.  The 
Paris  physicians  pronounced  him  incurable  and  advised  his 
being  left  in  perfect  solitude  with  nothing  to  break  the  silence 
that  was  needful  for  his  very  improbable  recovery,  and  that 
he  should  always  live  in  a  cool  room  with  a  subdued  light. 
Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  went  to  Paris  and  heard  what  the 
doctors  had  pronounced.  She  immediately  begged  to  see  my 
nephew,  who  hardly  recognized  her;  then,  like  the  noble  soul 
she  is,  she  insisted  on  devoting  herself  to  giving  him  such  care 
as  might  tend  to  his  recovery.  She  would  have  been  obliged 
to  do  so  if  he  had  been  her  husband,  she  said,  and  could  she 
do  less  for  him  as  her  lover?  She  removed  Louis  to  Villenoix, 
where  they  have  been  living  for  two  years." 

So,  instead  of  continuing  my  journey,  I  stopped  at  Blois  to 
see  Louis. 

When  I  saw  the  tall  turrets  of  the  chateau,  remembering 
how  often  poor  Lambert  must  have  thrilled  at  the  sight  of 
them,  my  heart  beat  anxiously.  The  marble-floored  room 
was  so  dark  that  at  first  I  saw  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  and 
Lambert  only  as  two  black  masses  against  the  gloomy  back- 
ground. To  her  remark  that  I  was  his  old  school-friend,  he 
made  no  reply.    He  was  standing,  his  elbows  resting  on  the 


86  LOUIS  LAMBERT 

cornice  of  the  low  wainscot,  which  threw  his  body  forward,  so 
that  it  seemed  bowed  under  the  weight  of  his  bent  head.  His 
hair  was  as  long  as  a  woman's,  falling  over  his  shoulders  and 
hanging  about  his  face.  His  face  was  perfectly  white.  Near 
him  was  a  bed  of  moss  on  boards, 

"He  very  rarely  lies  down,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix, 
"but  whenever  he  does  he  sleeps  for  several  days," 

Louis  stood,  as  I  beheld  him,  day  and  night,  with  a  fixed 
gaze,  never  winking  his  eyelids.  Having  asked  whether  a 
little  more  light  would  hurt  our  friend,  I  opened  the  shutters 
a  little  way,  and  could  see  the  expression  of  Lambert's  counte- 
nance. Alas !  he  was  wrinkled,  white-headed,  his  eyes  dull  and 
lifeless  as  those  of  the  blind.  I  made  several  attempts  to  talk 
to  him,  but  he  did  not  hear  me.  I  stayed  about  an  hour,  sunk 
in  unaccountable  dreams  and  lost  in  painful  thought.  I  lis- 
tened to  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix,  who  told  me  every  detail 
of  his  Ufe.  This  woman,  this  angel,  always  was  with  him, 
seated  at  her  embroidery-frame;  and  each  time  she  drew  the 
needle  out  she  gazed  at  Lambert  with  sad  and  tender  feeling. 
Unable  to  endure  this  terrible  sight,  I  went  out,  and  she  came 
with  me  to  walk  for  a  few  minutes  and  talk  of  herself  and  of 
Lambert.     She  said: 

"To  others  he  seems  insane;  to  me,  living  as  I  do  in  his 
mind,  his  ideas  are  quite  lucid.  I  follow  the  road  his  spirit 
travels;  and,  though  I  do  not  know  every  turning,  I  can  reach 
the  goal  with  him.  Louis  is  always  in  this  state;  he  soars  per- 
petually through  the  spaces  of  thought:  I  can  follow  him  in 
his  flight.  I  am  content  to  hear  his  heart  beat,  and  all  my 
happiness  is  to  be  with  him.  Is  he  not  wholly  mine?  I  can 
live  on  memory." 

After  going  in  to  see  Louis  once  more,  I  took  leave.  I  was 
afraid  to  place  myself  again  in  that  heavy  atmosphere  where 
ecstasy  was  contagious.  I  was  conscious  of  strange  disturb- 
ances, transcending  the  most  fantastic  results  of  taking  tea, 
coffee,  or  opium,  of  dreams,  or  of  fever — mysterious  agents, 
whose  terrible  action  often  sets  our  brains  on  fire. 

Louis  Lambert  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  September 
25,  1824,  in  his  true  love's  arms.  He  was  buried  by  her  desire 
on  an  island  in  the  park  at  Villenoix.     His  tombstone  is  a  plain 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  87 

stone  cross,  without  name  or  date.  Like  a  flower  that  has 
blossomed  on  the  margin  of  a  precipice,  and  drops  into  it,  its 
colors  and  fragrance  all  unloiown,  it  was  fitting  that  he,  too, 
should  fall.  Like  many  another  misprized  soul,  he  had  often 
yearned  to  dive  haughtily  into  the  void,  and  abandon  there  the 
secrets  of  his  own  life. 

Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  would  have  been  justified  in 
recording  his  name  on  that  cross  with  her  own.  Since  her 
partner's  death,  reunion  has  been  her  constant  hourly  hope. 
But  the  vanities  of  woe  are  foreign  to  faithful  souls. 

Villenoix  is  falling  into  ruin.  She  no  longer  resides  there; 
to  the  end,  no  doubt,  that  she  may  the  better  picture  herself 
there  as  she  used  to  be.     She  had  said  long  ago : 

"His  heart  was  mine;  his  genius  is  with  God." 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR  (1833) 
(Le  Medecin  de  Campagne) 

This  study  belongs  to  the  Scenes  of  Country  Life,  which  Balzac  did  not  live 
to  finish.  He  wrote:  "I  had  to  delineate  certain  exceptional  lives,  which  com- 
prehend the  interests  of  many  persons,  or  of  everybody,  and  are  in  a  degree 
outside  the  general  law.  Hence  we  have  Scenes  of  Political  Life.  This  vast 
picture  of  society  being  finished  and  complete,  was  it  not  needful  to  display  it 
in  its  most  violent  phase,  beside  itself,  as  it  were,  either  in  self-defense  or  for 
the  sake  of  conquest?  Hence  the  Scenes  of  Military  Life.  .  .  .  Finally,  the 
Scenes  of  Country  Life  are,  in  a  way,  the  evening  of  this  long  day."  Several 
editions  of  this  work  appeared,  and  in  1839  it  was  pubhshed  in  its  final  form. 
The  story  of  Napoleon's  career,  told  by  the  old  soldier  and  postman,  Goguelat, 
in  the  barn  to  his  rustic  audience,  has  always  been  admired  as  an  independent 
composition.  It  appeared  in  L'Europe  Litteraire  in  June,  1833,  before  the 
book  was  published.  In  his  list  of  "irreproachable  figures,"  to  use  his  own 
words,  created  by  him,  the  great  novelist  includes  Dr.  Benassis,  Genestas,  and 
the  pecuUar  La  Fosseuse.  The  work,  dedicated  to  his  mother,  bears  the  legend: 
"For  a  wounded  heart — shadow  and  silence." 

JN  a  lovely  spring  morning,  a  man  of  about  fifty 
was  riding  along  the  mountain  road  that  led  to 
a  large  village  near  the  Grande  Chartreuse.  His 
impassive  face  showed  no  admiration  of  the 
beautiful  Alpine  scenery,  for  he  was  one  of 
Napoleon's  soldiers,  and,  therefore,  a  stoic.  He 
wore  the  rosette  of  an  ojSicer  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  Pierre  Joseph  Genestas  was  an  unosten- 
tatious kind  of  Bayard.  He  had  served  on  every 
battle-field  where  Napoleon  had  commanded.  He  was  one  of 
those  natures  that  are  great  at  need  and  that  relapse  into  their 
ordinary  simphcity  when  the  action  is  over.  Genestas  had  just 
come  from  Grenoble,  having  obtained  leave  of  absence.  Stop- 
ping at  a  squalid  hovel  to  get  refreshment,  he  found  its  poor 
mistress  taking  care  of  charity  children,  and  was  greatly 
touched  by  her  assumption  of  the  duties  of  motherhood.  In 
his  conversation  with  her,  she  spoke  of  Monsieur  Benassis  with 
reverent  affection.    It  was  to  M.  Benassis's  house  that  Genestas 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  89 

wished  to  go.  He  inquired  the  way  thither,  and  set  off.  Soon 
he  caught  a  ghmpse  through  the  trees  of  the  little  town's  first 
cluster  of  houses,  and  noticed  a  general  air  of  prosperity  as  he 
rode  along.  A  child  showed  him  the  way  to  the  house,  and 
the  soldier  was  astonished  at  the  neglected  appearance  of  the 
premises.  Perhaps  he  should  have  to  relinquish  his  ideal  of 
Dr.  Benassis !  An  old  servant  took  his  horse  and  told  him  that 
the  master  had  gone  to  the  flour-mill,  Genestas  decided  to 
follow  him.  The  miller's  boy  redirected  him  to  a  hovel,  "more 
wretched  even  than  a  moujik's  hut  in  Russia,"  a  very  dog- 
kennel  indeed.  Here  was  a  dying  man  attended  by  an  old 
peasant  woman  and  Dr.  Benassis,  who  turned  suddenly  when 
he  heard  a  footstep  and  the  unusual  clank  of  spurs. 

Dr.  Benassis  was  of  ordinary  height,  broad-shouldered  and 
deep-chested.  He  wore  a  capacious  green  overcoat  buttoned 
up  to  the  chin,  and  his  dark  figure  served  as  a  strong  relief  to 
his  face,  which  was  illumined  by  the  firelight.  The  face  was 
not  unlike  that  of  a  satyr.  His  slightly  protruding  forehead 
was  full  of  prominences,  his  nose  was  turned  up;  his  cheek- 
bones were  high;  the  lines  of  his  mouth  were  crooked;  his 
lips  were  thick  and  red;  his  chin  was  sharp;  his  brown  eyes 
were  alert  and  expressed  passions  now  subdued;  his  hair  was 
iron-gray;  his  face  was  deeply  wrinkled;  his  eyebrows  were 
bushy,  and  his  face  was  covered  with  red  blotches.  Dr. 
Benassis  was  about  fifty.  Genestas,  who  was  accustomed  to 
those  men  of  energetic  natures  sought  out  by  Napoleon,  sus- 
pected, as  he  surveyed  this  man,  that  there  must  be  some 
mystery  in  this  life  of  obscurity. 

"Why  is  he  still  a  country  doctor?"  he  asked  himself. 

Next  he  studied  the  wholly  animal  face  of  the  old  dying 
cretin.  He  had  never  seen  a  cretin  before  and  had  an  instinc- 
tive feeling  of  repulsion.  In  a  few  moments,  this  poor  creature 
died;  and  not  long  afterward  the  passing-bell  tolled  and  the 
rustic  religious  procession  filed  in.  The  doctor  and  the  soldier 
took  their  leave.  As  they  walked  along,  the  doctor  described 
the  condition  of  the  cretin  and  the  superstitions  regarding  him; 
also  the  story  of  his  settling  in  this  district  and  the  opposition 
he  encountered  at  first,  when  he  was  even  stoned.  Then  he 
told  of  the  results  of  his  philanthropic  and  economic  schemes. 


90  THE   COUNTRY   DOCTOR 

As  they  reached  the  doctor's  house,  Genestas  said  that  having 
heard  of  the  miraculous  recovery  of  Monsieur  Gravier  of 
Grenoble,  he  desired  to  place  himself  under  Dr.  Benassis's 
care.  Benassis  accepted  him  as  a  patient;  and  when  he  in- 
sisted on  paying  a  fee  said  that  it  should  go  to  the  chemist  in 
Grenoble  to  pay  for  medicines  for  the  poor. 

Jacquotte,  the  doctor's  housekeeper,  managed  everything 
for  him.  She  loved  the  house :  she  had  lived  there  twenty-two 
years.  After  the  cure's  death,  Benassis,  who  had  just  come 
into  the  country,  bought  it  with  the  plate,  wine,  furniture,  sun- 
dial, poultry,  horse,  and  woman-servant,  the  very  type  of  a 
working  housekeeper.     Jacquotte  was  a  tyrant  by  this  time. 

While  strolling  in  the  garden.  Dr.  Benassis  explained  more 
fully  to  his  guest  how  the  population  had  increased  from  seven 
hundred  to  two  thousand  souls  in  ten  years  and  the  means  he 
had  employed  to  develop  the  country  and  promote  various 
industries.     Then  they  went  to  dinner. 

"My  name  is  Pierre  Bluteau,"  answered  Genestas;  "I  am 
a  captain  stationed  at  Grenoble."  This  was  in  reply  to  the 
doctor's  request  for  his  name,  as  he  led  the  way  to  the  guest- 
chamber,  a  luxuriously  furnished  apartment,  though  Genestas 
was  astonished  to  find  the  doctor's  room  simple  and  bare. 
The  astonishment  of  his  guest  caused  the  doctor  to  explain 
his  ideas  of  hospitality  and  to  emphasize  how  utterly  he  be- 
longed, body  and  soul,  to  the  peasants,  who  were  at  liberty  to 
come  to  his  house  at  all  times  and  seasons. 

They  bade  each  other  good  night;  but  before  the  soldier 
slept  he  mentally  reviewed  the  doctor,  who  hour  by  hour  grew 
greater  in  his  eyes. 

The  next  morning  Genestas,  at  the  doctor's  invitation, 
accompanied  him  upon  his  rounds.  The  two  horsemen  visited 
homes  of  sorrow  and  death;  they  encountered  an  old  soldier, 
Gondrin,  and  some  old  laborers  contented  with  their  lot; 
visited  several  of  the  doctor's  patients,  and,  above  all,  the 
strange,  sensitive,  and  peculiar  La  Fosseuse,  a  young  girl,  a 
sort  of  charge  of  Dr.  Benassis,  who  Hved  in  a  rustic  dwelling 
embowered  with  roses. 

"I  can  love  her  in  no  other  way  than  as  a  sister  or  a  daugh- 
ter;   my  heart  is  dead,"  said  Benassis,  when  Genestas  ques- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  91 

tioned  him  about  La  Fosseuse.  Then  Dr.  Benassis  told  the 
story  of  La  Fosseuse,  whose  father,  Le  Fosseur^  was  a  grave- 
digger  and  whose  mother  died  at  her  birth.  A  neighbor  took 
care  of  the  child  till  she  was  nine,  and  then  she  was  sent  out 
to  beg. 

They  arrived  home  late.  Jacquotte  was  annoyed,  for 
dinner  had  been  delayed.  There  were  guests,  too:  Monsieur 
Dufau,  justice  of  the  peace;  Monsieur  Cambon,  a  timber- 
merchant;  Monsieur  Janvier,  the  cure;  and  Monsieur  Ton- 
nelet,  the  mayor.     Jacquotte  announced  dinner. 

Invited  by  Benassis,  who  summoned  each  in  turn  so  as 
to  avoid  questions  of  precedence,  the  doctor's  five  guests  went 
into  the  dining-room;  and  after  the  cure,  in  low  and  quiet 
tones,  had  repeated  a  blessing,  they  took  their  places  at  table. 
The  linen  was  of  dazzling  whiteness,  and  fragrant  with  the 
scent  of  the  thyme  that  Jacquotte  always  put  into  her  wash- 
tubs.  The  dinner-service  was  of  white  porcelain,  edged  with 
blue,  and  was  in  perfect  order.  The  decanters  were  of  the 
old-fashioned  octagonal  kind  still  in  use  in  the  provinces, 
though  they  have  disappeared  elsewhere.  Grotesque  figures 
had  been  carved  on  the  horn  handles  of  the  ancient  knives. 

Society  itself  seemed  to  be  represented  by  the  types  gathered 
here;  and  the  long  conversation  was  devoted  to  a  discussion  of 
social  and  economic  questions. 

After  accompanying  the  cure  home.  Dr.  Benassis  proposed 
to  Genestas  that  they  should  go  to  the  barn  and  hear  the 
peasants  talk.  They  climbed  a  ladder  into  the  hay-loft  and 
looked  down  on  the  scene,  keeping  quiet  so  as  not  to  be  seen  or 
heard.  Quite  a  large  audience  of  both  sexes  were  hstening 
to  a  grotesque  story  related  by  a  peasant — The  Courageous 
Hunchback  Woman  was  its  title. 

La  Fosseuse  called  for  Napoleon's  adventures;  and  Gogue- 
lat,  the  postman,  got  up  from  his  truss  of  hay  and  yielded  to 
the  wishes  of  his  audience.  He  had  served  under  the  Emperor, 
and  gave  an  impassioned  survey  of  Napoleon's  career.  It  was 
the  Napoleon  of  the  People  that  he  described,  the  hero,  the 
demigod — the  Napoleon  who  bore  the  Sword  of  God  in  his 
scabbard.  Napoleon  the  Lion  of  the  Desert,  father  of  the 
soldier,  father  of  the  people!    When  describing  the  infantry 


92  THE  COUNTRY   DOCTOR 

he  was  interrupted.  " How  about  the  cavalry? "  cried  Genestas, 
dropping  into  the  midst  of  the  astonished  group.  The  two 
soldiers  then  had  a  talk;  and  the  crowd  screamed:  "Long  live 
the  Emperor!"  "Hush!"  said  the  officer,  concealing  his  deep 
sorrow.     "  He  is  deadl"     But  this  the  crowd  would  not  believe. 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  Goguelat?"  said  Benassis  to 
Genestas,  as  they  went  homeward. 

"So  long  as  such  stories  are  told  in  France,  sir,  she  will 
always  find  the  fourteen  armies  of  the  Republic  within  her  at 
need;  and  her  cannon  will  be  perfectly  able  to  keep  up  a  con- 
versation with  the  rest  of  Europe.     That  is  what  I  think." 

Sitting  beside  the  dying  fire,  Genestas  with  apologies  asked 
the  doctor  the  reason  for  his  retired  existence. 

"Captain,"  answered  Dr.  Benassis,  "for  these  twelve  years 
I  have  lived  in  silence,  and  now  as  I  wait  at  the  brink  of  the 
grave  for  the  stroke  that  will  cast  me  into  it,  I  will  candidly 
own  to  you  that  this  silence  begins  to  weigh  heavily  upon  me." 

Dr.  Benassis,  careless  of  the  judgments  of  man  and  full 
of  hope  in  God,  told  his  story.  He  was  bom  in  Languedoc; 
and  after  ten  years  of  the  almost  monastic  discipline  of  the 
Oratorians,  he  was  sent  to  Paris.  He  studied  at  the  Ecole  de 
Medecin;  and,  notwithstanding  the  precautions  taken  by  his 
father  to  guard  him,  he  was  drawn  into  the  dissipated  life  of 
the  capital.  He  had  a  craze  for  the  stage,  actors  and  acting, 
and  all  pleasures.  "I  became  a  Parisian,"  said  the  doctor, 
"and  to  be  brief,  I  led  the  aimless,  drifting  hfe  of  a  young  pro- 
vincial thrown  into  the  heart  of  a  great  city."  At  last  he 
formed  a  secret  connection  with  a  young  girl.  His  father  died 
and  left  him  a  fortune  and  he  deserted  the  girl  to  live  the  gay 
life  of  Parisian  society.  After  two  years,  she  wrote  and  asked 
him  to  come  to  see  her.  She  was  dying;  and  she  begged  him 
to  take  care  of  their  child.  Love  returned  to  the  young  man's 
heart,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  the  little  boy.  He  was  both 
father  and  mother  to  him.  After  a  time,  he  met  a  young  girl 
with  whom  he  fell  in  love,  and  offered  his  hand.  When  Eve- 
lina's parents  learned  the  past  history  of  their  future  son-in- 
law  and  the  existence  of  his  son,  they  broke  the  engagement. 
Evelina  wrote  him  a  tender  farewell,  which  Benassis  showed 
Genestas  with  deep  emotion,  and  also  his  reply  in  which  he 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  93 

said :  "  Farewell  forever.  There  still  remains  to  me  the  proud 
humility  of  repentance ;  I  will  find  some  sphere  of  life  where  I 
can  expiate  the  errors  to  which  you,  the  mediator  between 
Heaven  and  me,  have  shown  no  mercy.  Perhaps  God  may 
be  less  inexorable.  My  sufferings,  full  of  the  thought  of  you, 
shall  be  the  penance  of  a  heart  which  will  never  be  healed, 
which  will  bleed  in  silence.  For  a  wounded  heart — shadow 
and  silence.''^ 

Another  grief  fell  upon  Bcnassis:  his  child  died.  "Nothing 
was  left  to  me  here  on  earth,"  said  the  country  doctor  sadly; 
"I  raised  my  eyes  to  heaven  and  beheld  God." 

He  had  eighty  thousand  francs,  and  meant  to  live  a  solitary 
life  in  some  remote  country.  Drawn  to  the  rule  of  Saint  Bruno, 
he  made  the  journey  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse  on  foot,  ab- 
sorbed in  solemn  thoughts.  He  saw  the  Grande  Chartreuse 
and  walked  beneath  the  vaulted  roofs  of  the  ancient  cloisters. 
An  inscription  over  the  door  of  a  cell  impressed  him — "Fuge, 
late,  tace.^^  Discerning  an  undercurrent  of  egotism  in  the  dead 
life  of  the  cloister,  Benassis  determined  to  give  his  life  to  the 
suffering  poor  in  the  countryside.  "When  I  remembered," 
he  said,  "that  my  first  serious  thoughts  had  inclined  me  to  the 
study  of  medicine,  I  resolved  to  settle  here  as  a  doctor.  Be- 
sides, I  had  another  reason.  For  a  wounded  heart — shadow  and 
silence;  so  I  had  written  in  my  letter;  and  I  meant  to  fulfil  the 
vow  which  I  had  made  to  myself.  So  I  have  entered  into  the 
paths  of  silence  and  submission.  The  }uge,  late,  tace  of  the 
Carthusian  brother  is  my  motto  here,  my  death  to  the  world  is 
the  life  of  this  canton,  my  prayer  takes  the  form  of  the  active 
work  to  which  I  have  set  my  hand,  and  which  I  love — the  work 
of  sowing  the  seeds  of  happiness  and  joy,  of  giving  to  others 
what  I  myself  have  not." 

Genestas  now  gave  his  true  name  to  Dr.  Benassis.  The 
latter  had  long  known  of  Commandant  Genestas.  Genestas 
swore  eternal  friendship  and  begged  the  doctor  to  accept  a  new 
patient — a  boy.  No,  not  the  son  of  Genestas,  but  the  son  of 
her  he  loved ;  and  the  soldier  told  his  sad  story.  To  this  child 
Genestas  was  devoted.  Overstudy  had  developed  a  weak 
chest,  and  Genestas  had  come  to  learn  Dr.  Benassis  and  his 
ways  before  placing  the  boy  under  his  care.     Dr.   Benassis 


94  THE   COUNTRY   DOCTOR 

forgave  the  deception;  and  Genestas  soon  brought  the  delicate 
lad  of  sixteen  to  Dr.  Benassis,  who  pronounced  him  curable. 
He  left  the  boy  with  the  doctor.  Eight  months  later,  Genestas 
received  a  letter  from  Benassis,  telling  him  of  the  marvelous 
improvement  in  his  adopted  son.  "I  will  go  to  see  Benassis 
to-morrow,"  said  Genestas.  A  few  hours  later  he  received 
another  letter,  this  time  from  Adrien,  his  son,  announcing  the 
sudden  death  of  the  beloved  doctor.  He  was  taken  ill  on  re- 
turning from  visiting  a  patient  and  just  after  receiving  a  letter, 
Adrien  said,  addressed  in  a  lady's  handwriting  and  post- 
marked Paris.  "  It  is  all  over  with  me!"  he  cried.  "Adrien, 
burn  this  letter." 

When  Genestas  arrived,  he  found  the  whole  countryside  in 
sorrow.  With  the  cure  he  visited  the  grave.  La  Fosseuse  was 
weeping  there. 

"As  soon  as  I  have  my  pension,"  he  said  to  the  cure,  "I 
will  come  to  end  my  days  here  among  you." 


EUGENIE  GRANDET  (1834) 

Perhaps  because  this  story  touches  the  mark  more  closely  than  any  of  the 
rest  of  Balzac's  books,  it  has  been  more  enthusiastically  admired  and  widely 
read  than  those  others,  with  the  single  exception  of  Pere  Goriot.  It  appeared 
first  in  Volume  I  of  the  Scenes  of  Provincial  Life,  although  the  first  of  its  seven 
chapters  had  been  published  during  the  previous  year  in  U Europe  Litteraire. 
A  second  edition  followed  in  1839,  and  in  1843  the  novel  took  its  place,  with 
chapter  divisions  suppressed,  in  the  Comedy.  The  characters,  with  a  few  trivial 
exceptions,  do  not  reappear  in  succeeding  novels. 

N  1789  Monsieur  Grandet,  called  by  some  P^re 
Grandet,  was  a  master  cooper  in  Saumur,  able  to 
read,  write,  and  cipher.  When  the  French  Re- 
public offered  for  sale  the  Church  property  in  the 
arrondissement  of  Saumur,  the  cooper,  then  forty 
years  of  age,  had  just  married  the  daughter  of  a 
rich  wood-merchant.  With  his  own  ready  money 
and  his  wife's  dot,  he  obtained  for  a  song,  legally 
if  not  legitimately,  one  of  the  finest  vineyards  in 
the  district,  an  old  abbey,  and  several  farms.  Under  the  Con- 
sulate Grandet  became  mayor,  governed  wisely,  and  harvested 
still  better  pickings.  Under  the  Empire  he  was  called  Monsieur 
Grandet.  When  Napoleon,  who  did  not  like  Republicans, 
superseded  him,  he  quitted  office  without  regret. 

In  1806  M.  Grandet  inherited  three  fortunes — that  of 
Madame  de  la  Gaudini^re,  born  De  la  Bertelhere,  the  mother 
of  Madame  Grandet;  that  of  old  Monsieur  de  la  Bertellifere, 
her  grandfather;  and,  lastly,  that  of  Madame  Gentillet,  her 
grandmother  on  the  mother's  side:  three  inheritances,  whose 
amount  was  not  known  to  anyone.  M.  Grandet  thus  be- 
came the  most  imposing  person  in  the  arrondissement.  He 
worked  a  hundred  acres  of  vineyard,  owned  thirteen  farms,  an 
old  abbey,  a  hundred  and  twenty-seven  acres  of  meadow-land, 
and  the  house  in  which  he  lived.  Such  was  his  visible  estate; 
as  to  his  other  property,  only  two  persons  could  give  even  a 

95 


96  EUGENIE   GRANDET 

vague  guess  at  its  value:  Monsieur  Cruchot,  a  notary  em- 
ployed in  Grandet's  usurious  investments,  and  Monsieur  des 
Grassins,  the  richest  banker  in  Saumur,  in  whose  profits  Grandet 
had  a  certain  secret  share. 

Financially  speaking,  M.  Grandet  was  something  between 
a  tiger  and  a  boa-constrictor.  He  could  crouch  and  lie  low, 
watch  his  prey  a  long  while,  spring  upon  it  with  open  jaws, 
swallow  a  mass  of  louis,  and  then  rest  tranquilly  like  a  snake 
in  process  of  digestion,  impassible,  methodical,  and  cold.  No 
one  saw  him  pass  without  a  feeling  of  admiration  mingled  with 
respect  and  fear,  for  every  man  in  Saumur  had  felt  the  rending 
of  those  polished  steel  claws.  Few  days  passed  without  public 
mention  of  his  name.  To  some  his  fortune  was  an  object  of 
patriotic  pride:  they  would  say  to  strangers:  "We  have  two  or 
three  millionaire  establishments,  but  as  for  Monsieur  Grandet, 
he  does  not  himself  know  how  much  he  is  worth." 

So  large  a  fortune  covered  with  a  golden  mantle  all  the 
actions  of  this  man.  If  in  early  days  some  peculiarities  of  his 
life  gave  occasion  for  laughter  or  ridicule,  laughter  and  ridicule 
had  long  ago  died  away.  His  speech,  his  clothing,  his  gestures, 
the  blinking  of  his  eyes,  were  law  to  the  countryside,  where 
everyone  had  come  to  understand  the  deep,  mute  wisdom  of 
his  shghtest  actions. 

M.  Grandet's  manners  were  very  simple.  He  spoke  little. 
If  people  talked  to  him  he  listened  coldly,  and  four  sentences 
sufficed  him  usually  in  the  solution  of  all  matters  of  business: 
"I  don't  know;  I  cannot;  I  will  not;  I  will  see  about  it."  He 
never  said  yes  or  no,  and  never  committed  himself  to  writing. 
His  wife,  whom  he  had  reduced  to  a  state  of  helpless  slavery, 
was  a  useful  screen  to  him  in  business,  he  often  saying:  "I  can 
decide  nothing  without  consulting  my  wife."  He  went  no- 
where among  friends;  he  neither  gave  nor  accepted  dinners; 
he  made  no  stir  or  noise,  seeming  to  economize  in  everything. 
He  kept  but  one  servant.  La  Grande  Nanon,  so  called  on 
account  of  her  height,  who  did  all  the  work  of  the  household. 
In  short,  M.  Grandet  was  a  cold-blooded,  calculating  miser, 
who  counted  every  penny  of  expenditure  and  gloated  in  secret 
over  his  fast-accumulating  hoard.  He  concentrated  every 
feeling  upon  the  enjoyments  of  avarice  and  upon  the  only 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  97 

human  being  who  was  anything  whatever  to  him — his  daughter 
and  sole  heiress,  Eugenie. 

Only  six  individuals  had  a  right  of  entrance  to  M.  Grandct's 
house.  The  most  important  of  the  first  three  was  a  nephew  of 
M.  Cruchot,  who,  since  his  appointment  as  President  of  the 
Civil  Courts  of  Saumur,  had  signed  himself  C.  de  Bonfons. 
He  was  thirty-three  years  old,  possessed  the  estate  of  Bonfons, 
worth  seven  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  had  expectations  from 
an  uncle,  the  Abb^  Cruchot,  as  well  as  his  uncle  the  notary, 
both  of  whom  were  thought  to  be  very  rich.  These  three 
Cruchots,  allied  to  twenty  families  in  the  town,  formed  a  party, 
like  the  Medici  in  Florence.  Opposed  to  them  were  the  party  of 
the  Des  Grassins,  consisting  of  the  banker  and  Madame  des 
Grassins,  their  son  Adolphe,  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and 
their  cousins  and  allies.  The  object  of  the  ambition  of  each  of 
these  parties  was  to  obtain  the  hand  of  the  rich  heiress,  the 
one  for  Monsieur  le  president,  the  other  for  Adolphe. 

This  secret  warfare  between  the  Cruchots  and  the  Des 
Grassins  kept  the  various  social  circles  of  Saumur  in  violent 
agitation;  but  some  of  the  oldest  inhabitants,  wiser  than  their 
fellows,  declared  that  the  Grandcts  would  never  let  the  property 
go  out  of  the  family,  but  would  marry  Mademoiselle  Eugenie 
to  the  son  of  M.  Grandet  of  Paris,  a  wealthy  wholesale 
wine-merchant.  To  this  the  Cruchotines  and  Grassinists  re- 
plied: "The  two  brothers  have  seen  each  other  but  twice  in 
thirty  years,  and  Monsieur  Grandet  of  Paris  has  ambitious 
designs  for  his  son.  He  is  mayor  of  an  arrondissement,  colonel 
of  the  National  Guard,  judge  in  the  commercial  courts;  he 
disowns  the  Grandets  of  Saumur,  and  means  to  ally  himself 
with  some  noble  family." 

In  181 1  the  Cruchotines  won  a  signal  advantage  over  the 
Grassinists.  Maitre  Cruchot,  the  president,  aided  by  the 
abbe,  succeeded  in  procuring  for  M.  Grandet  the  estate  of  the 
Marquis  de  Froidfond,  remarkable  for  its  park,  its  mansion, 
its  farms  and  forests,  and  worth  about  three  millions. 

La  Grande  Nanon  had  lived  with  Grandet  ever  since  she 
was  twenty-two  years  old,  now  about  thirty-five  years.  She 
was  tall  and  ugly,  with  a  complexion  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  grenadier,  and  with  sinewy  arms  and  the  hands  of 

A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 7 


98  EUGENIE   GRANDET 

a  cartman.  Grandet,  a  good  judge  of  corporeal  strength,  en- 
gaged her  when  she  was  rejected  from  door  to  door,  and  the 
poor  girl  never  forgot  it.  She  attached  herself  in  all  sincerity 
to  her  master,  who  ruled  her  and  worked  her  with  feudal 
authority.  She  cooked  and  washed ;  she  got  up  early  and  went 
to  bed  late;  she  protected  the  property  of  her  master  like  a 
faithful  dog,  and  obeyed  without  a  murmur  his  most  absurd 
exactions.  From  her  yearly  wages  of  sixty  francs  she  had  been 
enabled  to  invest  four  thousand  francs  in  an  annuity  with 
Maitre  Cruchot,  and  every  servant  in  town  was  jealous 
of  her. 

A  single  tallow  candle  usually  sufficed  the  Grandet  family 
for  the  evening,  and  no  fire  was  ever  lighted  in  the  living-room 
before  Eugenie's  birthday  fete  in  the  middle  of  November.  On 
this  day  her  father  always  went  to  her  bedside  in  the  morning 
and  solemnly  presented  her  with  a  gold  piece,  while  Madame 
Grandet  gave  her  daughter  a  winter  and  a  summer  dress.  In 
the  evening  the  Cruchotines  and  the  Grassinists  came  after  the 
dinner  was  over  and  endeavored  to  surpass  each  other  in  tokens 
of  respect. 

One  evening,  in  the  year  1819,  the  two  factions  were  gath- 
ered in  the  great  room,  illuminated  by  two  tallow  candles  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  to  congratulate  Eugenie  on  her  twenty- 
third  birthday.  The  old  cooper,  with  inward  self-conceit, 
looked  over  the  company,  and  said  to  himself: 

"They  are  all  after  my  money.  Hey!  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other  shall  have  my  daughter;  but  they  are  useful — useful 
as  harpoons  to  fish  with." 

Just  as  Madame  Grandet  had  won  a  pool  of  sixteen  sous  at 
loto,  the  largest  ever  pooled  in  that  house,  the  knocker  on  the 
house-door  resounded  with  such  a  noise  that  the  women  all 
'jumped  in  their  chairs. 

"Who  the  devil  is  that?"  cried  Grandet. 

Nanon  took  one  of  the  candles  and  went  to  open  the  door, 
followed  by  her  master. 

"Grandet!  Grandet!"  cried  his  wife,  running  to  the  door, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  of  fear. 

"Go  back  to  your  loto!"  he  shouted,  pulling  the  door  to. 
The  noise  of  the  porter,  carrying  heavy  luggage  up  the  stair- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  99 

case,  was  heard,  and  soon  after  Grandet  returned,  followed  by 
a  young  man  who  saluted  the  company  gracefully. 

"  Sit  down  near  the  fire,"  said  Grandet. 

"You  are  cold,  no  doubt.  Monsieur,"  said  Madame  Grandet. 

"Just  like  all  women,"  growled  Grandet,  looking  up  from 
a  letter  he  was  reading.     "Do  let  Monsieur  rest  himself." 

"But,  father,  perhaps  Monsieur  would  like  to  take  some- 
thing," said  Eugenie. 

"He  has  got  a  tongue,"  said  the  old  man  sternly. 

Monsieur  Charles  Grandet,  of  Paris,  a  handsome  young 
man  of  twenty-two,  presented  a  singular  contrast  to  the  worthy 
provincials  who,  disgusted  at  his  aristocratic  bearing,  were  all 
studying  him  with  sarcastic  intent.  In  this,  his  first  visit  to 
the  provinces,  he  took  a  fancy  to  make  his  appearance  with 
the  superiority  of  a  man  of  fashion,  and  to  make  his  visit  an 
epoch.  He  therefore  brought  with  him  a  great  number  of 
costumes,  including  his  whole  collection  of  waistcoats  and 
every  variety  of  collar  and  cravat  known  at  the  time.  He 
brought  too  all  his  dandy  knickknacks,  and  his  pretty  gold 
toilet-set — a  present  from  his  mother;  in  short,  as  complete  a 
cargo  of  Parisian  frivolities  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  get 
together. 

The  loto  game  soon  came  to  an  end,  for  Grandet  had  taken 
from  the  table  the  candle'  to  read  his  letter.  When  he  had 
finished  he  turned  to  his  nephew  with  a  humble,  timid  air,  and 
asked,  "Have  you  warmed  yourself?" 

"Thoroughly,  my  dear  uncle." 

"Is  the  room  all  ready?"  he  asked  of  his  wife. 

The  company  arose  at  these  words  and  took  their  de- 
parture. When  they  were  left  alone,  Grandet  said  to  his 
nephew : 

"It  is  too  late  to  talk  of  the  matters  which  have  brought 
you  here;  to-morrow  we  will  take  a  suitable  moment.  We 
breakfast  at  eight  o'clock." 

Charles  did  not  appear  at  breakfast. 

"He's  sleeping  like  a  cherub,"  said  Nanon.  "I  went  in 
and  I  called  him:  no  answer." 

"Let  him  sleep,"  said  Grandet.  "He'll  wake  soon  enough 
to  hear  ill-tidings.     His  father  has  blown  his  brains  out." 


loo  EUGENIE   GRANDET 

"My  uncle?"  cried  Eugenie. 

"Poor  young  man!"  exclaimed  Madame  Grandet. 

"Poor  indeed!"  said  Grandet;   "he  isn't  worth  a  sou!" 

Eugenie  stopped  eating.  Her  heart  was  wrung,  as  the  young 
heart  is  wrung  when  pity  overflows  the  whole  being  of  a  woman. 
The  poor  girl  wept. 

"You  will  say  nothing  to  him  about  it,  Madame  Grandet, 
till  I  return,"  said  the  old  man.  " I  shall  be  back  at  noon.  As 
for  you.  Mademoiselle  Eugenie,  if  it  is  for  that  dandy  you  are 
crying,  that's  enough,  child.  He  is  going  off  like  a  shot  to  the 
Indies.     You  will  never  see  him  again." 

When  Grandet  finally  broke  to  Charles  the  news  of  his 
father's  failure  and  suicide,  of  which  he  had  no  suspicion,  the 
young  man  utterly  collapsed  and  kept  his  room  for  several 
days.  His  sobs  aroused  Eugenie's  pity,  and  she  shuddered  to 
hear  her  father's  remarks  on  his  grief.  When  she  and  her 
mother  suggested  something  for  the  young  man's  comfort,  the 
old  man  said:  "Charles  is  nothing  at  all  to  us;  he  hasn't  a 
farthing,  his  father  has  failed  for  four  miUions.  When  this 
dandy  has  cried  his  fill,  off  he  goes  from  here.  I  won't  have 
him  revolutionizing  my  household.  He  is  going  to  the  West 
Indies  at  his  father's  request,  and  he  will  try  to  make  his  fortune 
there." 

Eugenie  trembled  at  her  father's  comments,  and  from  that 
hour  she  began  to  judge  him.  Madame  Grandet,  troubled  by 
her  daughter's  sweet,  persuasive  tones  as  she  sympathized  with 
her  cousin's  grief,  said,  "Take  care,  you  will  love  him!" 

In  the  meantime  Grandet  had  consulted  M.  de  Bonfons  in 
relation  to  his  brother's  affairs.  The  president  informed  him 
that  bankruptcy,  which  was  attended  with  dishonor,  could  be 
prevented  by  liquidation,  that  is,  by  the  appointment  of  a  re- 
ceiver for  the  property.  "When  a  man  fails,  he  is  dishonored," 
said  the  president;  "but  when  he  merely  Hquidates,  he  remains 
an  honest  man." 

The  result  of  the  conference  was  that  Grandet,  to  save  the 
honor  of  the  family  name,  agreed  to  liquidate  his  brother's 
business.  The  president  said  that  in  a  few  months  the  debts 
might  be  bought  up  for  a  certain  sum,  and  then  paid  in  full  by 
an  agreement. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  loi 

Grandet  employed  Des  Grassins  to  call  a  meeting  of  the 
creditors,  who  elected  the  banker,  together  with  another  banker 
of  Paris,  as  Hquidators,  with  full  power  to  protect  both  the 
honor  of  the  family  and  the  interests  of  the  claimants.  Every 
creditor  acceded,  each  saying  confidently,  "  Grandet  of  Saumur 
will  pay." 

Charles,  though  but  twenty-one  years  old,  was  a  true  child 
of  Paris  and  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  possessed 
of  noble  sentiments.  But  Eugenie  was  too  inexperienced  to 
know  that,  and  her  sympathy  for  him  soon  turned  to  love. 
She  pitied  his  poverty — ^not  worth  a  sou,  as  her  father  said — 
and  pressed  upon  him  her  little  hoard  of  gold,  a  purse  of  rare 
coins  of  the  value  of  about  six  thousand  francs.  In  return  he 
entrusted  her  with  a  leather-covered  dressing-case  with  his 
gold  toilet-articles,  showing  her  a  secret  spring  which  opened 
a  hidden  drawer  and  disclosed  two  portraits  in  gold  frames  set 
with  pearls.  "My  father  and  my  mother,"  he  said.  "If  I 
die  and  your  little  fortune  is  lost,  this  gold  and  these  pearls  will 
repay  you.  To  you  alone  could  I  leave  these  portraits.  Let 
them  pass  into  no  other  hands." 

She  turned  upon  him  a  tender  look,  her  first  glance  of 
loving  womanhood. 

"Angel  of  purity!"  he  continued,  taking  her  hand  and 
kissing  it,  "between  us  two  money  is  nothing.  Feeling,  senti- 
ment, must  be  all  henceforth." 

When  the  eve  of  Charles's  departure  came,  Eugenie  had  no 
courage  to  forbid  the  kisses  he  pressed  upon  her  lips. 

"Are  we  not  married?"  he  said.  "I  have  thy  promise — 
then  take  mine." 

"Thine;  I  am  thine  forever!"  each  said,  repeating  the  words 
twice  over. 

On  the  next  morning  the  whole  family  set  out  to  escort 
Charles  to  the  diligence  for  Nantes. 

"Nephew,"  said  Grandet,  kissing  Charles  on  both  cheeks, 
"depart  poor,  return  rich;  you  will  find  the  honor  of  your 
father  safe.     I  answer  for  that  myself,  I — Grandet." 

Nine  months  later  the  two  liquidators  of  the  Grandet  estate 
in  Paris  distributed  forty-seven  per  cent,  to  each  creditor  on  his 
claim.     The  amount  was  obtained  by  the  sale  of  the  securities, 


I02  EUGENIE  GRANDET 

property,  and  possessions  of  all  kinds  belonging  to  the  late 
Guillaume  Grandet,  and  was  paid  over  with  scrupulous  fidelity, 
which  elicited  praise  from  all.  After  a  certain  length  of  time, 
the  creditors  asked  for  the  rest  of  their  money.  It  became 
necessary  to  write  a  collective  letter  to  Grandet  of  Saumur. 

"Patience,  my  good  friends,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  threw 
the  letter  into  the  fire. 

Months  passed,  and  Eugfoie's  birthday  came  around  again. 
According  to  his  custom,  Grandet  went  to  his  daughter's  room 
with  his  gold  piece  and  asked  to  see  her  collection. 

Eugenie  hesitated,  then  made  a  few  steps  toward  the  door, 
turned  abruptly,  and  said: 

"I  have  not  got  my  gold." 

"Not  got  your  gold!"  cried  Grandet.  "You  are  mistaken, 
Eugenie." 

"No." 

He  swore  a  terrible  oath.     "What  have  you  done  with  it?" 

"Grandet,  your  anger  will  kill  me,"  said  poor  Madame 
Grandet,  who  had  been  ailing  for  some  time. 

"Nonsense;  you  never  die  in  your  family.  Eugenie,  what 
have  you  done  with  your  gold?"  he  cried,  rushing  upon  her. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  daughter,  "my  mother  is  ill.  Look 
at  her;  do  not  kill  her." 

"Nanon,  help  me  to  bed,"  said  the  poor  woman  in  a  feeble 
voice;   "I  am  dying " 

"Eugdnie,  when  your  mother  is  in  bed,  come  down,"  said 
Grandet,  leaving  the  room. 

When  Eugenie  went  down  and  still  declined  to  tell  her 
father  what  she  had  done  with  her  gold,  Grandet  said:  "I  will 
not  see  you  again  imtil  you  submit.  Go  to  your  chamber. 
You  will  stay  there  till  I  give  you  permission  to  leave  it.  Nanon 
will  bring  you  your  bread  and  water.     You  hear  me — go!" 

After  several  months  of  suffering,  during  which  she  did  not 
have  a  physician  until  near  the  end,  Madame  Grandet  died. 
"My  child,"  she  said,  as  she  expired,  "there  is  no  happiness 
except  in  heaven;  you  will  know  it  some  day." 

Five  years  passed  with  nothing  to  relieve  the  monotony  of 
Eugenie's  sad  existence.  In  all  that  time  no  word  ever  came 
from   Charles.     Toward   the   close  of   1827   her   father,   then 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  103 

eighty-two.  was  stricken  with  paralysis.  Eugenic  devoted  all 
her  care  and  attention  to  him.  His  last  words  to  her  were, 
"Take  care  of  it  all,"  meaning  his  gold.  "You  will  render  me 
an  account  yonder!" 

Eugenie  Grandet  was  now  alone  in  the  world  in  that  gray 
house,  with  none  but  Nanon  to  whom  she  could  turn  with 
the  certainty  of  being  understood.  She  learned  from  Maitre 
Cruchot  that  she  was  the  possessor,  in  real  and  personal 
property,  besides  interest  to  be  collected,  of  about  seventeen 
million  francs. 

"Where  is  my  cousin?"  was  her  one  thought. 

"If  I  knew  where  he  was,  the  darling,"  said  Nanon,  "I'd 
go  on  foot  to  find  him." 

"The  ocean  is  between  us,"  Eugenie  replied. 

At  that  time  Charles  Grandet  had  just  returned  from  the 
West  Indies,  bringing  nineteen  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
gold  dust,  gathered  by  trading  in  all  kinds  of  merchandise, 
lawful  and  unlawful,  in  selling  slaves,  and  in  practising  usury. 
On  the  passage  he  met  Monsieur  d'Aubrion,  a  gentleman-in- 
ordinary  to  his  Majesty  Charles  X,  who  had  married  a  woman 
of  fashion,  once  wealthy,  but  now  reduced  to  an  income  of 
twenty  thousand  francs.  They  had  an  ugly  daughter  whom 
the  mother  wished  to  marry  without  a  dot,  and  she  promised 
Charles  Grandet  to  obtain  a  royal  ordinance  from  Charles  X, 
which  would  authorize  him  to  take  the  name  and  arms  of 
D'Aubrion,  and  to  succeed  to  the  titles  of  Captal  de  Buch  and 
Marquis  d'Aubrion.  Intoxicated  with  ambition,  and  believing 
his  father's  affairs  to  have  been  settled  by  his  uncle,  he  imagined 
himself  already  settled  down  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- Germain 
as  the  Comte  d'Aubrion.  Des  Grassins,  hearing  of  his  return 
with  a  large  fortune,  called  on  him  and  inquired  about  the 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  still  needed  to  settle  his  father's 
debts.  Charles  listened  coldly  and  said:  "My  father's  affairs 
are  not  mine." 

"But  suppose  that  your  father's  estate  were  within  a  few 
days  to  be  declared  bankrupt?" 

"Monsieur,  in  a  few  days  I  shall  be  called  the  Comte 
d'Aubrion:  you  will  understand,  therefore,  that  what  you 
threaten  is  of  no  consequence  to  me." 


I04  EUGENIE   GRANDET 

Eugdnie  was  sitting  one  afternoon  on  a  bench  in  the  garden, 
when  she  received  a  letter  from  Charles  informing  her  of  his 
return  and  of  his  approaching  marriage  to  Mademoiselle 
d'Aubrion,  which  would  give  him  title  and  position.  In  a 
postscript,  he  said:  "I  enclose  a  check  on  the  Des  Grassins's 
bank  for  eight  thousand  francs  to  your  order,  payable  in  gold, 
which  includes  the  capital  and  interest  of  the  sum  you  were 
kind  enough  to  lend  me.  .  .  .  You  can  send  my  dressing-case 
by  the  diligence  to  the  Hotel  d'Aubrion,  Rue  Hillerin-Bertin." 

"My  mother  was  right,"  said  Eugenie,  weeping.  "Suffer 
— and  die!" 

Madame  des  Grassins  called  with  a  letter  she  had  received 
from  her  husband  in  Paris.  It  detailed  his  call  on  Charles 
Grandet  and  the  latter's  reply  concerning  his  father's  debts: 
"There  are  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  legitimately  owing 
to  the  creditors,  and  I  shall  at  once  declare  his  father  a  bank- 
rupt. .  .  .  Still,  I  have  too  much  respect  for  Mademoiselle 
Eugenie  to  act  in  this  matter  before  you  have  spoken  to  her 
about  it." 

Eugenie  paused  here,  coldly  said,  "I  thank  you,"  and 
returned  the  letter. 

That  evening  she  entertained  the  usual  company,  hiding 
her  misery  behind  a  veil  of  courtesy,  and  when  the  party  rose 
to  leave  and  M.  de  Bonfons  was  about  to  take  his  cane,  she 
said: 

"Stay,  Monsieur  le  President." 

The  President  turned  pale  and  resumed  his  seat. 

When  they  were  left  alone,  "Monsieur  le  President,"  said 
Eugfoie  with  emotion,  "  I  know  what  pleases  you  in  me.  Swear 
to  leave  me  free  during  my  whole  life,  to  claim  none  of  the 
rights  which  marriage  will  give  you  over  me,  and  my  hand  is 
yours.  Friendship  is  the  only  sentiment  which  I  can  give  to 
a  husband.  But  you  can  possess  my  hand  and  my  fortune 
only  at  the  cost  of  doing  me  an  inestimable  service.  Here  are 
fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs.  Go  to  Paris,  find  Monsieur 
des  Grassins,  learn  the  names  of  my  uncle's  creditors,  pay  them 
in  full,  with  interest  at  five  per  cent.,  and  get  full  and  legal 
receipts.  Take  all  these  to  my  Cousin  Grandet,  and  give  them 
to  him  with  this  letter.     On  your  return  I  will  keep  my  word." 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  105 

When  the  President  heard  the  exclamation  of  Charles  Gran- 
det  when  he  put  the  receipts  and  his  cousin's  letter  into  his 
hands,  he  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"We  will  announce  our  marriages  at  the  same  time,"  re- 
marked M.  de  Bonfons. 

"Ah!  you  marry  Eugenie?  Well,  I  am  delighted.  But — 
she  must  be  rich!" 

"She  had,"  said  the  President,  with  a  mischievous  smile, 
"about  nineteen  millions  four  days  ago;  she  has  only  seventeen 
to-day." 

Charles  looked  at  him  thunderstruck. 

"Seventeen  mil " 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  we  shall  muster  between  us  an  income  of 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

Six  months  after  the  marriage  of  Eugenie  and  M.  de  Bon- 
fons, he  was  appointed  Councillor  in  the  Cour  Royale  at  Angers, 
then  Judge  in  the  Superior  Courts,  and  finally  President  of  them. 
He  hoped  to  be  returned  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  to 
secure  a  peerage,  but  he  died  eight  days  after  his  election  as 
Deputy  of  Saumur.  As  he  had  drawn  a  careful  contract  in 
which  husband  and  wife  gave  to  each  other,  in  case  they  should 
have  no  children,  their  entire  property  of  every  kind,  all  his 
possessions  fell  to  Eugenie.  God  thus  flung  piles  of  gold  upon 
this  prisoner  to  whom  gold  was  a  matter  of  indifference,  who 
longed  for  heaven,  who  lived,  pious  and  good,  in  holy  thoughts, 
succoring  the  unfortunate  in  secret,  and  never  wearying  of 
such  deeds.  But,  in  spite  of  her  vast  wealth,  she  always  Hved 
as  the  poor  Eugenie  Grandet  once  hved. 


PERE  GORIOT  (1835) 

This  tale  is  included  in  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee.  After  appearing  as  a 
serial  in  the  Revue  de  Paris  in  1834-1835,  it  was  published  in  two  volumes  in 
1835,  and  a  second  edition  was  called  for  the  same  year.  According  to  Balzac's 
own  authority,  he  wrote  the  novel  in  twenty-five  days.  Pere  Goriot  has  been 
called  "the  French  King  Lear";  but  it  has  no  Cordelia  to  soften  the  sorrows  of 
the  pathetic  old  man.  Pfere  Goriot  and  Madame  Vauquer  appear  in  no  other 
work;  but  many  of  the  other  characters  frequently  reappear.  This  book  in- 
troduces the  ubiquitous  Eugene  de  Rastignac ;  and  Vautrin,  or  Trompe-la-Mort, 
who  figures  in  Illusions  Perdues  and  Splendeiirs  et  Misires,  is  of  great  importance 
in  this  volume.  Pere  Goriot's  two  undutiful  and  ungrateful  daughters,  Madame 
de  Restaud  and  Madame  de  Nucingen,  occur  in  other  books  and  stories — 
Madame  de  Beauseant  and  the  Marquis  d'Ajuda  in  La  Femme  Ahandonnee; 
Poiret  and  La  Michonneau  in  Splendeurs  et  Miseres,  and  Poiret  also  in  Les 
Employes;  Bianchon  is  a  familiar  character  in  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  and  many 
novels  of  the  Comedie;  the  Taillefers  in  L'Auberge  Rouge;  Maxime  de  Trailles 
in  Beatrix;  and  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  one  of  Balzac's  most  fascinating 
women,  in  a  story  to  which  her  name  is  given  in  the  Histoire  des  Treize. 

|HE  Maison  Vauquer,  which  had  been  kept  by 
Madame  Vauquer  for  forty  years,  was  in  one  of 
the  least  known  and  ughest  quarters  of  Paris — 
in  the  Rue  Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve,  not  far 
from  the  Pantheon.  The  front  of  this  boarding- 
house  stood  at  right  angles  to  the  road,  and 
looked  upon  a  httle  garden,  in  which  grew  arti- 
chokes and  rows  of  pyramidal  fruit-trees,  sur- 
rounded by  a  border  of  lettuce,  pot-herbs,  and 
parsley.  Over  the  entrance  were  the  words  in  large  letters 
Maison  Vauquer,  and  beneath  these,  in  small  letters.  Lodg- 
ings for  both  sexes,  etc.  The  house  was  three  stories  high ;  and 
there  were  five  windows  in  each  story,  the  blinds  of  which  were 
always  awry.  It  was  built  of  rough  stone  and  covered  with 
yellowish  stucco.  A  French  window  gave  access  to  the  sitting- 
room  on  the  ground  floor — a  dreary  and  depressing  place,  con- 
nected by  a  door  into  the  dining-room.  The  furniture  was 
covered  with  black  horsehair;  on  a  round  marble-topped  table, 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  stood  a  white  china  tea-service;  and 

106 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  107 

the  wall-paper  above  the  wainscot  was  stamped  with  scenes 
from  Telemaque;  that  of  Calypso's  banquet  to  Ulysses  had 
suggested  jokes  to  the  boarders  for  forty  years.  The  excessive 
neatness  of  the  hearth  showed  that  a  fire  was  rare;  and  on  the 
chimneypiece  a  vase  filled  with  artificial  flowers,  imprisoned 
under  a  glass  shade,  stood  on  either  side  of  a  very  ugly  bluish 
marble  clock.  The  damp,  stuffy,  musty,  and  rancid  odor  ex- 
haled by  this  room,  which  might  be  termed  "the  boarding- 
house  smell,"  was  like  the  delicate  fragrance  of  a  boudoir  when 
compared  with  that  of  the  adjoining  dining-room.  So  dirty 
were  the  painted  paneled  walls  that  it  was  impossible  to  dis- 
cover their  real  color.  On  the  sticky  surfaces  of  the  sideboards 
stood  the  glass  decanters  and  blue  earthenware  plates;  in  one 
corner  a  box  with  numbered  pigeonholes  was  the  custodian  of 
the  boarders'  wine-stained  table-napkins.  Lamps  covered  with 
oil  and  dust,  execrable  engravings  in  black  frames,  a  clock,  a 
green  stove,  and  a  table  and  chairs  completed  the  furnishings. 
The  oilcloth  that  covered  the  long  table  was  so  greasy  that  a 
waggish  boarder  would  sometimes  write  his  name  on  it  with 
his  thumb-nail;  the  chairs  were  broken-down  invaHds;  the 
wretched  little  hempen  mats  would  slip  away  beneath  the  feet; 
the  foot-warmers  were  hingeless,  charred  and  broken;  and  the 
red  tiles  of  the  floor  were  also  full  of  depressions.  In  short, 
this  room  expressed  the  reign  of  dire,  parsimonious,  concen- 
trated, threadbare  poverty.  Madame  Vauquer  was  the  em- 
bodiment and  interpretation  of  her  lodging-house:  you  could 
not  imagine  the  one  without  the  other.  She  was  about  fifty, 
sleek  and  corpulent,  with  a  bloated  countenance,  a  nose  like  a 
parrot's,  fat  little  hands,  and  a  shapeless,  slouching  figure. 

Madame  Vauquer  had  seven  lodgers.  The  best  rooms  on 
the  first  floor  were  let  to  Madame  Couture,  the  widow  of  a 
commissary-general,  and  Victorine  Taillefer,  a  schoolgirl  to 
whom  she  filled  the  place  of  a  mother;  Madame  Vauquer  oc- 
cupied the  other  rooms.  The  second  floor  was  occupied  by 
an  old  man  named  Poiret  and  a  Monsieur  Vautrin,  who  wore 
a  black  wig  and  dyed  whiskers  and  called  himself  a  retired 
merchant.  Two  of  the  four  rooms  on  the  third  floor  were  also 
let — one  to  a  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  an  elderly  spinster, 
and  the  other  to  a  retired  manufacturer  of  vermicelli,  Italian 


io8  PERE   GORIOT 

paste  and  starch,  called  by  all  the  boarders  "  Daddy  Goriot." 
One  of  the  remaining  rooms,  allotted  to  birds  of  passage,  was 
occupied  by  Eugene  de  Rastignac,  a  young  law-student  from 
the  vicinity  of  Angouleme,  one  of  a  large  family  who  pinched 
and  starved  themselves  to  spare  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year 
for  him.  He  was  one  of  those  who  reaHze  that  their  parents' 
hopes  are  centered  on  them  and  prepare  themselves  for  a  great 
career. 

Above  the  third  floor  were  a  garret  and  two  attics,  in  one  of 
which  slept  Christophe,  the  man-of-all- work ;  and  in  the  other, 
Sylvie,  the  stout  cook.  Several  law  and  medical  students  dined 
at  the  Maison  Vauquer,  so  there  were  usually  eighteen  or 
twenty  at  the  diimer-table.  At  breakfast,  however,  only  the 
seven  lodgers  appeared,  and  they  came  down  in  dressing-gowns 
and  slippers.  The  dreary  surroundings  of  the  house  were  re- 
flected in  the  costumes  of  the  boarders — all  wore  shabby, 
threadbare,  limp,  frayed  clothes;  and  their  faces  were,  as  a  rule, 
hard  and  cold ;  for  these  people  had  weathered  the  storms  of  life. 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  angular  and  sharp;  Poiret,  a 
sort  of  automaton;  Victorine  Taillefer,  a  pretty  but  unhappy 
young  girl,  whose  rich  father  intended  to  disinherit  her  for  the 
sake  of  her  brother;  Madame  Couture  devoted  herself  to  this 
almost  penniless  girl,  who  soon  fell  in  love  with  Eugene  de 
Rastignac.  Nothing  escaped  the  hawk-eyed,  jovial  Vautrin, 
who,  despite  his  invariably  good  humor  and  gaiety  of  spirit, 
was  a  mystery  to  the  others.  He  often  put  his  arm  around 
"Mamma,"  as  he  playfully  called  Madame  Vauquer.  There 
was  one  butt  and  laughing-stock  of  the  household — the  re- 
tired vermicelli  merchant.  Daddy  Goriot,  "upon  whose  face  a 
painter,  like  the  historian,  would  have  concentrated  all  the  light 
in  his  picture."  Why  did  the  boarders  regard  him  with  a  half- 
malignant  contempt? 

At  the  age  of  sixty-nine — about  1813 — Daddy  Goriot  had 
sold  his  business  and  retired— to  Madame  Vauquer's.  He 
took  rooms  now  occupied  by  Madame  Couture,  for  which  he 
paid  twelve  hundred  francs.  He  was  called  "  Monsieur  Goriot " 
then.  His  fine  wardrobe  and  collection  of  silver  impressed 
Madame  Vauquer,  who,  despite  his  sunken  and  watery  eyes, 
the  look  of  stupid  good-nature  in  his  full-moon  countenance,  and 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  109 

his  somewhat  boorish  manners,  felt  a  desire  "to  shake  off  the 
shroud  of  Vauqucr  and  rise  again  as  Goriot."  Her  attentions 
failed  to  bring  about  the  desired  result;  and,  toward  the  end 
of  the  second  year,  M.  Goriot  asked  for  a  room  on  the  second 
floor  at  a  reduced  price.  Henceforth  Madame  Vauquer  spoke 
of  him  as  Daddy  Goriot.  The  boarders  advanced  many  theo- 
ries regarding  his  life,  and  were  somewhat  puzzled  by  calls 
from  two  richly  dressed,  youthful  ladies.  At  the  end  of  the 
third  year.  Daddy  Goriot  took  a  room  on  the  third  floor, 
and  did  without  snuff  and  hair-powder.  The  boarders  were 
astonished  one  day  to  see  him  appear  at  the  table  in  his  own 
hair — a  dingy  olive-gray.  He  had  grown  sadder,  too,  under 
the  influence  of  some  hidden  trouble,  and  his  face  was  dread- 
fully wobegone.  In  the  fourth  year,  he  suddenly  dropped 
into  his  dotage:  his  keen,  blue  eyes  had  faded  and  grown  dull, 
and  his  red,  swollen  eyelids  looked  as  if  they  had  wept  tears  of 
blood. 

One  evening,  Madame  Vauquer  said  half-banteringly : 

"So  those  daughters  of  yours  don't  come  to  see  you  any 
more,  eh?"  meaning  to  imply  doubts  upon  his  paternity. 
Daddy  Goriot  was  wounded  to  the  quick : 

"They  come,  sometimes,"  he  said  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"Aha!  You  still  see  them  sometimes?"  cried  the  students. 
"Bravo,  Daddy  Goriot!" 

It  was  now  November,  181 9.  Eugene  de  Rastignac  had 
been  in  Paris  for  a  year,  taken  a  degree,  visited  his  home  and 
returned  to  his  studies.  His  head  was  full  of  dreams  of  social 
success,  and  he  was  armed  with  an  introduction  to  a  distant 
relative,  Madame  de  Beaus^ant.  She  invited  him  to  a  ball; 
and  when  he  returned  he  sat  down  to  study,  but  his  mind  was 
dazzled  by  the  recollection  of  the  brilliant  assembly,  where  he 
had  met  the  beautiful  Countess  Anastasie  de  Restaud  and 
fallen  in  love  with  her.  She  had  invited  him  to  call.  While 
dreaming  of  her,  he  heard  a  sigh  from  Daddy  Goriot's  room; 
and,  fearing  that  the  old  man  was  ill,  looked  through  the 
keyhole.  He  saw  Daddy  Goriot  crushing  and  twisting  a  piece 
of  silver  out  of  shape.  Then  he  rolled  it  with  wonderful  dex- 
terity. Tears  fell  from  his  eyes,  and  he  blew  out  the  dip  that 
had  served  for  a  Hght,  murmuring  the  words  "Poor  child!" 


no  PERE   GORIOT 

"He  is  mad!"  thought  Rastignac. 

In  the  morning  Vautrin  told  Madame  Vauquer  that  he  had 
seen  Daddy  Goriot  at  half-past  eight  selling  a  piece  of  silver 
to  an  old  money-lender,  Gobseck,  in  the  Rue  des  Gres.  While 
they  were  gossiping,  Daddy  Goriot  called  Christophe,  who  soon 
came  down-stairs  with  a  letter,  which  Vautrin  seized,  read 
the  address,  Madame  la  Comtesse  Anastasie  de  Restaud,  and, 
holding  it  to  the  Hght,  discovered  a  receipted  account. 

The  boarders  gathered  at  the  table.  Eugene  described  the 
ball,  the  beautiful  woman  he  had  seen  there,  and  remarked 
that  he  had  seen  her  again  that  morning  in  the  Rue  des  Gres. 

Vautrin  cut  him  short:  "I  think,"  he  said,  "she  was  going 
to  call  on  Gobseck,  an  old  money-lender.  Her  name  is  Anas- 
tasie de  Restaud  and  she  Hves  in  the  Rue  du  Helder."  The 
student  stared  at  Vautrin.  Daddy  Goriot  looked  uneasy. 
"Then  Christophe  was  late,  and  she  must  have  gone  to  him!" 
he  cried  in  anguish.  When  Eugene  described  Madame  de  Res- 
taud's  appearance,  Goriot's  eyes  brightened  and  he  devoured 
every  word.     The  boarders  thought  the  worst  of  Daddy  Goriot. 

In  the  afternoon,  Victorine  and  Madame  Couture  described 
their  unhappy  visit  to  Monsieur  Taillefer,  who  refused  to  do 
anything  for  his  daughter.  Dinner  was  soon  served,  during 
which  the  usual  jests  were  made  at  Daddy  Goriot's  expense 
and  many  silly  jokes  suggested  by  the  newly  invented  diorama. 
Every  other  word  had  to  end  in  orama!  They  inquired  for 
each  other's  health-orama  and  noted  the  soup-orama,  etc. 

The  next  day,  Eugene  called  on  Madame  de  Restaud.  On 
his  way  to  the  drawing-room  he  heard  voices  and  the  sound 
of  a  kiss.  One  of  the  speakers  was  Madame  de  Restaud ;  the 
other,  Daddy  Goriot !  On  entering,  he  found  his  rival,  Maxima 
de  Trailles,  who  was  shown  into  the  adjoining  room,  when 
Daddy  Goriot  was  dismissed.  Eugene  followed.  Soon  Mon- 
sieur de  Restaud  entered,  greeted  Maxime  and  was  introduced 
to  Eugene;  and  when  he  entered  into  conversation  M.  de 
Restaud,  the  Countess,  and  Maxime  retired  to  the  boudoir. 
When  Maxime  had  left  and  the  Countess  had  joined  her  hus- 
band, Eugene  asked  about  a  mutual  acquaintance,  "Daddy 
Goriot,  his  fellow-lodger."  "Sir,"  said  the  Count,  "you 
might    have    called   him   Monsieur    Goriot!"     The    Countess 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  iii 

turned  pale  and  then  red,  "You  could  not  know  anyone  who 
is  dearer  to  us  both,"  she  said,  and  going  to  the  piano  began 
to  play  and  sing.  Eugene  took  his  leave  and  drove  to  Madame 
de  Beaus^ant's,  resolving  to  ask  her  to  help  him  unravel  the 
mystery.  Madame  de  Beausdant,  absorbed  in  her  own  troubles 
over  the  announced  betrothal  of  her  lover,  the  Marquis  d'Ajuda- 
Pinto,  diverted  her  thoughts  with  her  naive  relative.  She 
promised  to  be  his  protector  and  initiate  him  into  the  ways  of 
gay  Parisian  society.  She  told  him  that  Madame  de  Restaud 
was  the  daughter  of  a  vermicelli  manufacturer  named  Goriot, 
and  that  her  sister,  Delphine,  had  married  a  German  banker, 
Baron  de  Nucingen.  Madame  de  Langeais,  who  was  calling, 
joined  the  Vicomtesse  in  telling  the  story  of  the  Goriots. 

"The  kind  father,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  "gave  each  daugh- 
ter five  or  six  hundred  thousand  francs  to  secure  her  happiness 
by  marrying  her  well ;  while  he  only  kept  eight  or  ten  thousand 
iivres  a  year  for  himself,  thinking  that  his  daughters  would 
always  be  his  daughters,  thinking  that  in  them  he  would  live  his 
life  twice  over  again,  that  in  their  houses  he  would  have  two 
homes  where  he  would  be  loved  and  looked  up  to  and  made 
much  of.  And  in  two  years'  time  both  his  sons-in-law  had 
turned  him  out  of  their  houses  as  if  he  were  an  outcast." 

Tears  came  into  Eugene's  eyes.  "Daddy  Goriot  is  sub- 
lime," he  said  to  himself,  as  he  remembered  how  his  neighbor 
had  worked  his  silver  into  a  shapeless  mass.  When  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais  had  gone,  Madame  de  Beauseant  told 
Eugene  more.  The  sisters  were  not  on  speaking  terms.  Res- 
taud moved  in  court  circles  and  his  wife  had  been  received. 
Madame  de  Nucingen  was  not  yet  in  society.  "If  you  like," 
said  the  Vicomtesse,  "to  introduce  her  to  me,  she  will  idolize 
you.  I  will  invite  her  to  one  of  my  great  crushes,  and  bow 
when  I  see  her.  If  after  that,  you  can  love  her,  do  so;  if  not, 
make  use  of  her.  You  have  shut  the  Comtesse  de  Restaud's 
door  against  you  by  mentioning  Daddy  Goriot.  Now,  let 
Daddy  Goriot  take  you  to  the  house  of  the  lovely  Madame  de 
Nucingen.  As  soon  as  she  singles  you  out,  other  women  will 
lose  their  heads  over  you  and  you  will  have  success.  This  in 
Paris  is  the  key  to  power.  You  can  then  go  everywhere,  and 
you  will  find  out  what  the  world  is — an  assemblage  of  knaves 


112  PERE   GORIOT 

and  fools.  I  am  giving  you  my  name  like  Ariadne's  clue  of 
thread  to  take  with  you  into  this  labyrinth ;  make  no  unworthy 
use  of  it." 

The  transition  from  the  elegances  of  the  Countess  de  Res- 
taud's  home  and  the  superb  Hotel  de  Beauseant  to  the  Mai- 
son  Vauquer  was  severe.  The  squalid  dinner-table  disgusted 
Eugene.  He  grumbled  a  little,  told  some  of  his  experiences 
and  championed  Daddy  Goriot.  Vautrin  was  sarcastic  and 
Madame  Vauquer  amazed  to  learn  that  the  old  man  was  the 
father  of  a  countess  and  a  baroness.  The  medical  student, 
Bianchon,  made  a  capital  joke  to  Rastignac.  "That's  about 
all  he  is  capable  of,"  said  he;  "I  have  taken  a  look  at  his  head; 
there  is  only  one  bump — the  bump  of  Paternity;  he  must  be 
an  eternal  father." 

"So  you  have  seen  my  daughter?"  said  Goriot  tremulously 
to  Eugene.  Eugene,  taking  his  hand  kindly,  rephed :  "  You 
are  a  good  and  noble  man.  We  will  talk  about  your  daughters 
by  and  by."  Eugene  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  after 
his  first  day  on  the  battle-ground  of  Parisian  society.  Where 
was  he  to  find  enough  money?  He  wrote  to  his  mother  and 
also  to  his  sisters.  He  counted  upon  the  noble,  generous 
natures  buried  in  the  lonely  manor-house,  and  felt  ashamed 
of  his  selfishness. 

Eugene  now  neglected  his  studies  and  plunged  into  society. 
His  mother  and  sisters  sent  two  bags  of  money  to  him  at  the 
Maison  Vauquer,  which  did  not  escape  Vautrin's  keen  eyes. 
He  took  the  "Marquis  de  Rastignacorama "  out  in  the  garden 
for  a  little  quiet  talk  under  the  lime-trees.  He  astonished  the 
somewhat  haughty  Eugene  by  an  insight  into  his  ambitions, 
and  riveted  his  attention.  Then  he  had  a  business  proposition 
in  which  Eugene's  money-bags  were  to  play  a  conspicuous 
part.  He  was  to  go  out  into  the  wilds  of  America  with  Vautrin 
as  business  manager  and  he  was  to  marry  Victorine.  She  was 
not  long  to  be  penniless,  because  Vautrin  was  going  to  get  the 
brother  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  one  of  his  friends.  A  duel 
would  follow,  the  boy  would  be  killed,  and  the  bereaved  father 
would  send  for  Victorine.  Eugene  considered  Vautrin  a  devil 
incarnate.  In  the  meantime,  Eugene  had  found  out  more 
about  Goriot.     He  was  a  workman  in  the  employ  of  a  vermi- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  113 

celli-makcr,  and  bought  his  master's  business  after  the  troubles 
of  1789.  He  established  himself  near  the  Corn  P^xchange  and 
made  a  great  deal  of  money.  When  his  wife  died,  the  instinct 
of  fatherhood  developed  in  him  till  it  became  a  mania.  All  the 
affection  in  his  heart  turned  to  his  daughters.  He  lived  for  them, 
gratified  every  whim,  and  spoiled  them  to  excess.  Each,  free 
to  marry  as  she  pleased,  got  what  she  wanted:  Anastasie  de- 
sired social  position,  and  became  the  Countess  de  Restaud; 
Delphine  desired  money,  and  married  a  banker.  To  please 
his  daughters'  ambitions,  he  sold  out  and  took  refuge  at  the 
Maison  Vauquer,  when  he  was  banished  from  his  daughters' 
rich  homes. 

Eugene  was  informed  by  Goriot  of  the  houses  at  which 
Madame  de  Nucingen  was  received.  The  old  man  got  the  in- 
formation from  his  daughter's  maid.  A  great  friendship  had 
sprung  up  between  Eugene  and  Goriot,  for  the  latter  was 
thirsting  for  any  knowledge  of  his  daughters. 

Eugene  first  saw  Delphine  at  the  theater,  and  lost  his  heart. 
She  was  dehghted  to  attract  the  attention  of  Madame  de 
Beaus6ant's  escort.  The  Marquis  d'Ajuda  took  Eugene  to  the 
Nucingen  box  and  introduced  him.  He  talked  to  her  of  Daddy 
Goriot  and  the  Countess  de  Restaud,  and  a  friendship  was 
established.  When  he  went  home,  he  told  Daddy  Goriot  all 
about  Delphine.  Eugene  noted  the  terrible  poverty  of  the 
bedroom,  in  which  there  was  no  fire.  It  was  Hke  the  worst 
kind  of  a  prison  cell.  Goriot  described  with  passionate  fervor 
his  love  for  his  daughters;  and  when  Eugene  told  him  that  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Delphine  the  old  man  was  dehghted. 

Eugene  had  an  invitation  to  dine  at  the  Nucingens  and  go 
to  the  opera;  before  dinner,  however,  the  Baroness  got  him 
to  drive  with  her  to  the  Palais-Royal  and  made  him  take  her 
purse  and  go  into  a  gaming-house.  He  won,  and  brought 
the  seven  thousand  two  hundred  francs  to  her.  She  gave  him 
a  wild  embrace,  and,  as  they  drove  back  to  her  house,  she  told 
him  all  of  her  private  troubles.  She  made  Eugene  take  some 
of  the  money  and  sent  the  rest  to  a  former  lover,  Monsieur  de 
Marsay. 

On  his  return,  Eugene  visited  old  Goriot,  and  told  him  all 
about  the  evening.  The  grieved  father  determined  to  see  a 
A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 8 


114  PERE   GORIOT 

lawyer  and  arrange  so  that  Delphine  should  have  more 
money. 

Eugbne  was  now  rushing  society  and  fast  turning  into 
a  coxcomb.  He  squandered  time  and  money,  and  then  began 
to  gamble.  He  played  high,  and  lost  and  won.  Some  of  his 
winnings  he  sent  home.  At  last  he  got  so  far  down  in  luck 
and  money  that  he  accepted  Vautrin's  offer  to  cash  a  draft. 
Victorine,  seeing  him  in  trouble,  grew  sympathetic. 

At  this  juncture  a  detective,  Gondureau,  told  Poiret  and 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  that  the  so-called  Vautrin,  at  the 
Maison  Vauquer,  was  a  notorious  convict,  Jacques  Collin, 
nicknamed  Trompe-la-Mort;  but  he  wanted  to  make  sure. 
He  proposed  that  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  pour  the  contents 
of  a  small  bottle,  which  he  would  send  her,  into  Vautrin's 
coffee,  or  wine.  He  would  fall  in  a  fit.  Then  they  must  carry 
him  to  bed  and  undress  him.  A  slap  on  the  shoulder  would 
reveal  the  letters  of  this  branded  criminal — this  man  0}  mark. 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  had  suffered  from  Vautrin's 
caustic  tongue,  agreed  for  a  price. 

Madame  de  Nucingen  had  driven  Eugene  to  despair;  and  in 
this  mood  he  made  love  to  Victorine.  Vautrin  was  dehghtcd 
with  the  story  of  the  betrothal  that  he  read  in  their  faces.  He 
told  Eugene  that  everything  was  ready  for  the  duel;  and  that, 
by  breakfast-time,  Victorine  would  be  an  heiress. 

Goriot  entered  and  took  Eugene  away  to  inform  him  that 
Delphine  was  out  of  sorts  because  she  had  something  in  her 
mind.  She  was  waiting  for  him — Goriot — to  complete  ar- 
rangements for  a  set  of  chambers  for  Eugene.  Goriot  had 
arranged  with  her  attorney  for  her  independent  annuity;  and 
on  the  fifth  floor  above  these  rooms  he  was  going  to  lodge. 
"I  shall  not  be  in  the  way,"  he  said,  "but  I  shall  be  there,  that 
is  all." 

The  next  morning,  as  the  boarders  were  breakfasting,  a 
messenger  came  for  Victorine:  her  brother  had  been  fatally 
wounded  in  a  duel!  She  left  with  Madame  Couture.  Made- 
moiselle Michonneau  watched  Vautrin  drink  his  coffee  with  in- 
terest. The  drug  acted:  Vautrin  dropped  as  if  dead.  Made- 
moiselle Michonneau  followed  the  detective's  orders,  and  found 
the  mark  on  his  shoulder.  When  Vautrin  had  recovered  and  was 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  115 

again  in  the  dining-room,  Bianchon  facetiously  referred  to  the 
noted  Trotnpe-la-Mort,  whereupon  Vautrin  was  thunderstruck. 
At  this  moment,  soldiers  appeared  and  arrested  the  notorious 
Collin,  whose  black  wig  was  snatched  off  and  revealed  a  crop 
of  red  hair.  The  boarders  forced  Madame  Vauquer  to  turn 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  into  "the  streetorama"  and  Poiret 
went  with  her.  Five  lodgers  were  now  gone!  Madame  Vau- 
quer was  nearly  collapsed. 

What  now?     Goriot  in  a  cab? 

Daddy  Goriot  had  come  for  Eugene!  "I  am  going  to  dine 
with  my  daughter  in  your  house,"  he  said;  "do  you  under- 
stand?   She  expects  you.     Come!" 

The  cab  stopped  in  the  Rue  d'Artois.  Eugene  hesitated  to 
accept  the  beautiful  apartment;  but,  to  his  surprise,  Goriot 
owned  it  all.  He  had  sold  out  all  his  property  to  rent  and  fur- 
nish it.  A  happy  evening  followed.  When  they  returned, 
they  told  Madame  Vauquer  that  they  were  going  to  move.  The 
next  day  Eugene  heard  Delphine's  voice  in  Daddy  Goriot's 
room.  She  was  in  trouble.  The  Baron  had  refused  to  let  her 
have  her  money.  Madame  de  Restaud  now  arrived.  She  was 
also  in  despair:  she  needed  money  for  Maxime;  she  had  sold 
the  family  jewels  that  M.  de  Restaud  prized  so  highly!  Res- 
taud had  found  out  everything! 

Daddy  Goriot  nearly  went  mad  to  see  his  daughters  in 
trouble.  Anastasie  was  furious  with  Delphine  when  she 
heard  what  her  father  had  done.  There  was  no  money  to  meet 
the  demands  of  the  daughters.  Eugene  dashed  into  the  room 
with  Vautrin's  old  draft,  which  Anastasie  made  her  father 
indorse,  although  he  was  ill  by  this  time.  Then  she  disap- 
peared, and  Delphine  went  home  to  dress  for  the  opera.  Goriot, 
nursed  by  Bianchon  and  Eugene,  constantly  talked  of  his 
daughters. 

Eugene  went  for  Delphine ;  but  she  was  going  to  Madame  de 
Beauseant's  ball.  This  was  this  great  lady's  farewell  to  the 
world.  She  was  going  to  bury  her  heart,  broken  by  the  Mar- 
quis d'Ajuda,  in  Courcelles.  Eugene  handed  her  into  her  car- 
riage, and  returned  to  the  Maison  Vauquer  in  the  cold  dark- 
ness.    His  education  was  nearly  complete. 

"There  is  no  hope  for  Daddy  Goriot,"  Bianchon  told  him 


ii6  PERE   GORIOT 

on  his  arrival.  The  old  man  still  talked  of  his  daughters — 
his  tender-hearted  Delphine  and  his  darling  Nasie!  He  called 
for  them;  but  they  refused  all  summons.  Eugene  now  went 
to  fetch  them.  M.  de  Restaud  took  no  interest  in  the  matter; 
his  wife  could  send  only  a  message:  she  was  under  her  hus- 
band's tyranny.  Delphine  was  in  bed,  and  at  first  doubted 
the  seriousness  of  the  case ;  but  she  finally  consented  to  accom- 
pany Eugene.  Daddy  Goriot  grew  worse.  In  his  inarticulate 
moaning,  they  found  he  wanted  a  little  locket — the  symbol 
of  his  heart,  for  it  contained  the  childish  hair  of  Delphine  and 
Anastasie. 

"Ah!  my  angels!"  were  the  last  words  the  old  man  mur- 
mured. Madame  de  Restaud  now  arrived  in  great  distress; 
but  too  late  to  obtain  the  forgiveness  she  desired. 

The  boarding-house  dinner  went  on  as  usual. 

Daddy  Goriot  was  carried  to  the  chapel  of  Saint-Etienne 
du  Mont.  Christophe  and  Eugene  were  the  only  mourners; 
and  "two  priests,  a  chorister,  and  a  beadle  did  as  much  as  could 
be  expected  for  seventy  francs."  They  then  went  to  Pere 
Lachaise,  followed  by  two  empty  carriages  with  the  armorial 
bearings  of  the  Comte  de  Restaud  and  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 
With  the  tear  that  he  dropped  on  Daddy  Goriot's  grave,  Eugene 
de  Rastignac's  youth  ended.  He  looked  across  the  shining 
world  of  Paris  in  the  distance  that  he  had  longed  to  reach,  and 
said  magniloquently : 

"Henceforth,  there  is  war  between  us!" 

And  by  way  of  throwing  down  the  glove  to  Society,  he 
went  to  dine  with  Madame  de  Nucingen! 


now  U^  3i'i  yf^'v 

'7  . 


A' 


j\?s -ij^  \irii*oiL   ■lA'i  ^iVy^,  Nodk  .S  \j'i  ^i\irt".''iB 


T.i6  PERE  GORIOT 

on  his  arfivaL    The  old  man  still  talked  of  his  daughters — 

his  ter?der  hearted  Delphine  and  his  darling  Nasiel    He  called 

for  ♦'--  ■     '    '    '-ey  refused  all  suromons.     E'ugene  now  went 

to  *"  I.  de  Restaud  took  no  interest  in  the  matter; 

rould  send  only  a  message:   shf:  was  under  her  hus- 

-  "ny.     Delphine  was  in  bed,  and  at  tVi-st  doubted 

^  s  of  the  case;  but  she  finally  consent <id  to  accom- 

r>?;ny  Eugene.     Daddy  Goriot  grew  worse.     In  his  inarticulate 

-moaning,   they  found   he  wanted  a  little    ■     '    •     ihe  symbol 

r>!  his  hear»:,  for  it  contained  the  childish  h  Iphinc  and 

Anastasi 

"Ah;  '.n^  .:u^LL>.  vvere  the  last  wor^k  Um  -k^  ■.■•.aii  mur- 
mured. Madame  de  Restaud  now  arrived  in.  great  distress; 
bat  too  late  to  obtain  the  forgiveness  she  desired. 

The  boarding-iiouse  dinner  went  on  as  usual. 

Daddy  Goriot  was  carried  to  the  chapel  of  Saint-Etienne 
du  Mont.  Christophe  and  Eugene  were  the  only  mourners; 
r-nd  *'tv-o  pric-ts,  a  chorister,  and  a  beadie  did  as  m'.ich  as  could 
^  "ARj'frty  artgefer"  SvdikiS  the  fesl'iverys  tffil>^^  itfeflnmarrtureacx  p:'rr6) 

]Sc;,?nj'V^.  im  mpike  ^mm  m}?i  ^/.^^^riai 

■    -^e  de  Restaud  i^nd  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 

'ropned  on  Daddy  Goriot's  grave,  Eugene 

He  looked  across  the  shining 

■  .,,,.  I    ,  I  :i ?  1-  '  had  longed  to  reach,  and 

^aid  ma:: 

''Henteiurui.  'Miween  us!" 

And  by  way  ...  down  the  glove  to  Societv,  he 

went  to  dine  with  Mi-  Nucingen! 


iisrll;''4vi'"' »'■''!'.  v''-'.''v  '.Ipij'i'lf'. 


iiM"hii<ii.i»'iiiiiitiUAjii:«t 


SERAPHITA  (1835) 

Seraphita  first  appeared  in  Le  Livre  Mystique,  with  Louis  Lambert  and  Les 
Proscrits  (Paris,  1835).  A  portion  of  it  had  already  been  published  in  the 
Revue  de  Paris  in  1834.  In  1840  it  appeared  in  Le  Livre  des  Douleurs;  in 
1842  it  was  republished  with  Louis  Lambert.  Since  1846  it  has  been  included 
in  the  Comedie  in  the  Etudes  Philosophiques.  Balzac's  personal  estimate  of  this 
work  is  very  high.  In  his  dedication  to  Madame  de  Hanska  he  said:  "If  I 
should  be  accused  of  incapacity  after  trying  to  extract  from  the  depths  of  mysti- 
cism this  book,  which  demanded  the  glowing  poetry  of  the  East  under  the  trans- 
parency of  our  beautiful  language,  the  blame  be  yours!  Did  you  not  compel 
me  to  the  eflort — such  an  effort  as  Jacob's — by  telling  me  that  even  the  most 
imperfect  outline  of  the  figure  dreamed  of  by  you,  as  it  has  been  by  me  from  my 
infancy,  would  still  be  something  in  your  eyes?  Here,  then,  is  that  something. 
Why  cannot  this  book  be  set  apart  exclusively  for  those  lofty  spirits  who,  hke 
you,  are  preserved  from  worldly  pettiness  by  sohtude!"  In  his  Introduction 
to  the  Comedy  (1842),  Balzac  thus  explains  his  aim:  "Some  persons,  seeing  me 
collect  such  a  mass  of  facts  and  paint  them  as  they  are,  with  passion  for  their 
motive  power,  have  supposed,  but  wrongly,  that  I  must  belong  to  the  school 
of  Sensuahsm  and  Materialism — two  aspects  of  the  same  thing — Pantheism. 
But  their  misapprehension  was  perhaps  justified — or  inevitable.  I  do  not 
share  the  belief  in  indefinite  progress  for  society  as  a  whole;  I  beheve  in  man's 
improvement  in  himself.  Those  who  insist  in  reading  in  me  the  intention  to 
consider  man  as  a  finished  creation  are  strangely  mistaken.  Seraphita,  the 
doctrine  in  action  of  the  Christian  Buddha,  seems  to  me  an  ample  answer  to 
this  rather  heedless  accusation.  .  .  .  The  wonders  of  animal  magnetism,  with 
which  I  have  been  familiar  since  1820;  the  beautiful  experiments  of  Gall, 
Lavater's  successor;  all  the  men  who  have  studied  mind  as  opticians  have 
studied  light — two  not  dissimilar  things — point  to  a  conclusion  in  favor  of  the 
mystics,  the  disciples  of  St.  John,  and  of  those  great  thinkers  who  have  estab- 
lished the  spiritual  world — the  sphere  in  which  are  revealed  the  relations  of 
God  and  man." 


N  May,  1800,  the  mountainous  amphitheater  en- 
closing the  Stromfiord  between  Drontheim  and 
Christiania  was  still  covered  with  snow  and  ice; 
the  falls  of  the  Sieg  even  had  not  yet  melted.  It 
was  a  daring  thing,  therefore,  for  two  human 
beings  to  mount  the  shelves  of  the  Falberg  to  the 
summit  on  their  skis.  Finally  they  paused,  and 
she  whose  name  was  Minna,  looking  down  into 
the  abyss,  was  fascinated  and  overwhelmed  with 
the  spectacle  at  her  feet,  and  was  about  to  throw  herself  down 
the  precipice  in  her  vertigo,  crying,  "I  am  dying,  my  Seraphitus, 
having  loved  no  one  but  you!" 

117 


ii8  SERAPHITA 

Seraphitus  breathed  softly  on  her  brow  and  eyes,  and  im- 
mediately she  was  calmed. 

"Who  and  what  are  you?"  she  cried;  "but  I  know,  you 
are  my  hfe." 

Without  replying,  Seraphitus  left  her  side  and  stood  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  precipice,  looking  calmly  into  the  gulf.  Minna 
called  him  back  in  agony  and  asked  the  source  of  such  super- 
human strength  of  mind.  The  strange  being,  raising  his  hand 
toward  the  blue  patch  between  the  clouds,  replied : 

"You  can  look  into  far  greater  space  without  a  qualm." 

"But  what  a  difference,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"You  are  right,"  he  rephed.  "We  are  born  to  aspire  sky- 
ward. Our  native  home,  like  a  mother's  face,  never  frightens 
its  children." 

They  proceeded  till  they  reached  a  beautiful  little  meadow 
full  of  alpine  plants.  In  Minna's  delight  in  his  presence  and 
talk,  she  exclaimed  that  she  never  had  seen  Seraphitus  so 
beautiful.  Seraphitus  had  a  complexion  like  the  internal  glow 
of  an  alabaster  vase,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  give  out  light 
rather  than  receive  it,  a  frame  slight  and  fragile  as  a  woman's, 
but  of  wonderful  strength,  and  hair  with  light  curls. 

Seraphitus  repelled  Minna's  proffered  embrace,  and  said 
kindly:  "Come!"  To  her  gentle  reproaches,  Seraphitus  re- 
plied by  exhorting  her  to  a  celestial  love,  when  she  would  love 
all  creatures,  and  added:  "Some  day,  perhaps,  we  may  meet 
in  the  world  where  love  never  dies." 

Then  he  said:  "I  can  give  nothing  that  you  want.  Why 
do  you  not  love  Wilfrid?  He  will  be  your  lover,  your  hus- 
band. I  wanted  a  companion  to  go  with  me  to  the  realm  of 
light.  I  thought  to  show  her  this  ball  of  clay,  and  I  find  that 
you  still  cling  to  it.  Adieu!  Remain  as  you  are,  enjoy  through 
your  senses,  obey  your  nature;  turn  pale  with  pale  men,  blush 
with  women,  play  with  children,  pray  with  sinners,  look  up 
to  heaven  when  you  are  stricken;  tremble,  hope,  yearn;  you 
will  have  a  comrade,  you  still  may  laugh  and  weep,  give  and 
receive.  For  me — I  am  an  exile  far  from  heaven;  like  a  mon- 
ster, far  from  earth!  My  heart  beats  for  none;  I  live  in  my- 
self, for  myself  alone.  I  feel  through  my  spirit,  I  breathe  by 
my  brain,  I  see  by  my  mind,  I  am  dying  of  impatience  and 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  119 

longing.  No  one  here  below  can  satisfy  my  wishes  or  soothe 
my  eagerness ;  and  I  have  forgotten  how  to  weep.  I  am  alone 
— I  am  resigned,  and  can  wait." 

They  returned  to  the  valley. 

"Make  haste,  pretty  one,  the  night  is  falling,"  said  Sera- 
phitus. 

The  voice  startled  Minna :  it  was  as  clear  as  a  girl's.  Manly 
strength  seemed  leaving  Seraphitus.  They  hurried  through 
the  village  of  Jar  vis  to  the  parsonage,  where  Pastor  Becker 
sat  reading.  He  affectionately  welcomed  the  pair;  and  Sera- 
phitus invited  Minna  and  her  father  to  tea  two  days  later. 

When  Seraphitus  arrived  at  the  old  Swedish  castle,  David, 
a  man  of  eighty,  came  out  to  welcome  the  owner.  Seraphitus 
declined  refreshment,  and  lay  down  to  sleep,  while  the  old  man 
lingered  in  loving  contemplation  of  the  strange  being  the  ques- 
tion of  whose  sex  was  so  puzzhng.  He  wept  as  he  thought: 
"  She  is  suffering  and  will  not  tell  me." 

In  the  evening  David  came  into  the  drawing-room.  "I 
know  who  is  coming,"  said  Seraphita;  "Wilfrid  may  come  in." 

Wilfrid  had  come  to  urge  her  to  accept  his  undying  devo- 
tion; but  she  reasoned  with  him  as  she  had  reasoned  with 
Minna.     Among  other  things,  she  said : 

"You  know  full  well  that  I  can  never  be  yours.  Two 
feehngs  rule  the  love  that  attracts  the  women  of  this  earth: 
either  they  devote  themselves  to  suffering  creatures,  degraded 
and  guilty,  whom  they  desire  to  comfort,  to  raise,  to  redeem, 
or  they  give  themselves  wholly  to  superior  beings,  sublime  and 
strong,  whom  they  are  fain  to  worship  and  understand — by 
whom  they  are  too  often  crushed.  You  have  been  degraded, 
but  you  have  purified  yourself  in  the  fires  of  repentance,  and 
you  now  are  great;  I  feel  myself  too  small  to  be  your  equal, 
and  I  am  too  rehgious  to  humble  myself  to  any  power  but  that 
of  the  Most  High." 

Seraphita  told  him  that  she  loved  him  truly,  and  Minna 
also,  but  to  her  they  were  one  being.  She  begged  him  to 
marry  Minna,  so  that  she  might  see  them  happy  before  quitting 
this  sphere  forever. 

"Yes,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  married  to  Minna,  but 
promise  me  to  make  her  your  wife  when  you  see  me  no  more. 


I20  SERAPHITA 

Heaven  intends  you  for  each  other.  ...  I  torture  you,  and 
you  come  to  this  wild  country  to  find  rest — you  who  are  racked 
by  the  fierce  throes  of  misunderstood  genius,  worn  out  by  the 
patient  labors  of  science,  who  have  almost  stained  your  hands 
by  crime  and  worn  the  chains  of  human  justice." 

Wilfrid  fell  to  the  floor  in  agony.  Seraphita  breathed  on 
his  brow,  and  he  fell  asleep.  Laying  her  hand  on  his  brow, 
she  explained  to  him  her  feelings  and  mystical  love,  exhorting 
him  to  rise  to  the  rank  of  those  who  are  in  the  circle  of  love  and 
wisdom  and  who  aspire  to  celestial  illumination.  She  con- 
cluded : 

"Now  gaze  at  me  for  a  moment,  for  you  will  henceforth 
see  me  but  darkly,  as  you  behold  me  by  the  fight  of  the  dull 
sun  of  the  earth." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  her  head  gently  bent  on  one  side, 
her  hair  flowing  about  her  in  the  airy  grace  which  the  subfimest 
painters  have  attributed  to  messengers  from  heaven;  and  the 
folds  of  her  dress  had  the  indescribable  grace  which  makes  the 
artist  stop  to  gaze  at  the  exquisite  flowing  veil  of  the  antique 
statue  of  Polyhymnia.  When  Wilfrid  awoke,  Seraphita,  lying 
on  her  bearskin,  with  calm  face  and  shining  eyes,  dismissed 
him  with  an  invitation  to  come  to  tea  with  the  Beckers. 

Outside  he  gazed  up  at  the  lights  in  the  windows  of  the 
castle  and  asked  himself  whether  he  was  awake  or  sleeping. 
To  recover  his  mental  balance,  he  went  to  the  manse  to  spend 
the  evening. 

Pastor  Becker  was  seated  in  his  large  armchair  near  the 
stove  and  in  front  of  a  table  on  which  were  books,  one  of  which 
he  was  reading,  and  for  extra  comfort  he  had  his  feet  in  a  foot- 
muff.  A  beer-jug  and  a  glass  were  on  his  right,  while  on  his 
left  stood  a  smoky  lamp.  He  was  of  about  sixty  years,  with  a 
noble  Rembrandtesque  face  and  head,  and  as  he  smoked  his 
long  pipe,  he  occasionally  watched  the  spirals  of  smoke  with 
a  speculative  eye  while  digesting  what  he  was  reading.  Minna 
was  sitting  opposite  him,  sewing.  Her  fresh  young  face,  deli- 
cately pure  in  outline,  harmonized  with  the  mnocence  that 
shone  on  her  white  brow  and  in  her  bright  eyes.  Her  attitude 
as  she  sat  forward  on  her  chair  leaning  slightly  toward  the 
light,  showed  the  grace  of  her  figure.     She  presented  the  most 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  121 

complete  and  typical  image  of  woman  bom  to  earthly  duties, 
whose  eye  might  pierce  the  clouds  of  the  sanctuary,  while  a 
mind  at  once  humble  and  charitable  kept  her  on  the  level  of 
man. 

Until  the  silence  was  broken  by  Wilfrid,  the  only  sound  was 
the  heavy  step  of  the  kitchen-maid  and  the  sizzle  of  the  dried 
fish  in  the  frying-pan  in  the  next  room. 

Wilfrid  asked  the  Pastor  for  information  about  the  strange 
being  who  dwelt  at  the  Castle.  He  had  been  six  months  in  the 
village,  and  he  found  that  the  chains  that  were  binding  him 
were  likely  to  make  his  stay  permanent.  On  the  very  first  day 
he  fell  under  Seraphita's  enchantment.  The  Pastor  asked, 
"Are  enchantments  possible?"  and  Wilfrid  repHed  that  the 
man  who  at  that  moment  was  so  conscientiously  studying 
Jean  Wier's  Incantations  would  understand  his  own  sensa- 
tions. After  describing  Seraphita's  mysterious  influence  over 
him,  he  concluded:  *'I  have  for  the  past  few  days  been  wan- 
dering round  this  abyss  of  madness  too  helplessly  to  keep 
silence  any  longer.  I  have,  therefore,  seized  a  moment  when 
I  find  courage  enough  to  resist  the  monster  that  drags  me  to 
her  presence  without  asking  whether  I  have  strength  enough 
to  keep  up  with  his  flight.  Who  is  she?  Did  you  know  her 
as  a  child?  Was  she  ever  bom?  Had  she  parents?  Was 
she  conceived  by  the  union  of  sun  and  ice?  She  freezes  and 
she  burns;  she  comes  forth,  and  then  vanishes  like  some  coy 
truth;  she  attracts  and  repels  one;  she  alternately  kills  and 
vivifies  me;  I  love  her,  and  I  hate  her!  I  cannot  live  thus. 
I  must  be  either  in  heaven  altogether,  or  in  hell." 

The  Pastor  listened  with  a  mysterious  expression,  glancing 
occasionally  at  his  daughter,  who  seemed  to  understand  Wil- 
frid's words. 

"My  dear  guest,"  he  said,  "to  explain  her  birth  it  will  be 
necessary  to  disentangle  the  obscurest  of  all  Christian  creeds," 
and  he  proceeded  to  give  a  detailed  description  of  Sweden- 
borg's  life,  writings,  beliefs,  and  teachings. 

Swedenborg  was  especially  attached  to  Baron  Seraphitus, 
his  most  zealous  disciple,  who  was  in  search  of  a  woman  with 
the  angelic  spirit,  and  Swedenborg  revealed  her  in  a  vision, 
saying  the  life  of  heaven  shone  brightly  in  her  and  she  had  gone 


122  SERAPHITA 

through  the  first  tests.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  London 
shoemaker.  After  the  prophet  was  translated,  the  Baron  came 
here  to  Jarvis  to  solemnize  his  heavenly  nuptials  in  the  prac- 
tise of  prayer.  The  earthly  life  of  the  couple  was  undoubtedly 
that  of  the  saints  whose  virtues  are  the  glory  of  the  Roman 
Church.  They  were  extremely  charitable;  they  were  never 
angry  or  impatient,  but  invariably  gentle  and  beneficent,  full 
of  amiability,  graciousness,  and  true  kindness.  Their  marriage 
was  the  harmony  of  two  souls  in  constant  union.  The  wife 
was  simple  in  manner,  sweetly  dignified,  and  lovely  in  face  and 
form. 

In  1783  Seraphita  was  born.  Previously  her  parents  had 
lived  in  the  greatest  retirement  in  perpetual  prayer.  They 
hoped  to  see  Swedenborg.  At  Seraphita's  birth  Swedenborg 
appeared  and  filled  the  room  with  light.  He  said:  "The  work 
is  accomplished;  the  heavens  rejoice."  The  servants  heard 
strange  sounds  of  music,  brought,  they  declared,  by  the  four 
winds.  Swedenborg  led  the  Baron  out  to  the  fiord  and  left 
him  in  ecstasy. 

"I  met  him  on  my  way  to  the  Castle.  His  face  was  radiant, 
and  his  whole  appearance  inspired.  He  said:  'Your  minis- 
trations are  superfluous;  our  child  is  to  be  nameless  on  earth. 
You  will  not  baptize  with  earthly  waters  one  who  has  been 
bathed  in  fires  from  heaven.  This  child  will  always  be  a 
flower;  you  will  not  see  it  grow  old;  you  will  see  it  pass  away. 
You  have  existence,  it  has  life;  you  have  external  senses,  it 
has  not;  it  is  wholly  inward.' 

"He  told  me  he  had  just  parted  with  Swedenborg  and  felt 
the  glory  of  heavenly  love.  I  went  with  him  to  see  the  child. 
As  I  entered  the  room,  Seraphita  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
me.  Her  eyes  already  saw  and  understood.  .  .  .  She  never 
was  seen  nude;  she  lay  spotless  on  her  mother's  breast,  and 
never  cried;  no  other  hand  ever  touched  her.  At  the  age  of 
nine,  she  began  to  be  absorbed  in  prayer,  which  is  her  life. 
In  church  she  is  set  apart  from  the  other  worshipers;  if 
space  is  not  left  about  her  she  is  ill.  She  spends  most  of  her 
time  indoors — her  faculties  and  feelings  are  essentially  in- 
ward. She  is  commonly  in  a  state  of  mystical  contemplation. 
Her  understanding,  soul,  body,   everything  about  her  is  as 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  123 

virginal  as  the  snow  on  our  mountains.  When  she  was  nine, 
her  parents  died  at  the  same  instant,  painlessly  and  without 
any  visible  malady,  after  naming  the  hour  at  which  they  should 
die.  She  looked  at  them  calmly,  displaying  neither  grief  nor 
pain,  neither  joy  nor  curiosity.  Her  parents  smiled  upon  her. 
When  we  went  to  carry  them  away  she  said:  'Take  them 
away.'  When  I  asked  her  whether  she  were  not  grreved  at 
their  death,  she  said :  '  Dead !  No ;  they  are  still  in  me.  This 
is  nothing!'  .  .  . 

"Poor  girl!  she  has  inherited  the  fatal  enthusiasm  of  her 
parents.  She  fasts  in  a  way  that  drives  poor  old  David  to 
despair.  His  mistress,  whose  incomprehensible  language  he 
has  adopted,  is  to  him  the  breeze  and  sunshine ;  to  him  her  feet 
are  diamonds;  her  forehead  crowned  with  stars;  she  moves 
environed  by  a  white  and  luminous  halo;  her  voice  has  an 
accompaniment  of  music;  she  has  the  gift  of  becoming  invisible. 
.  .  .  The  fishermen  declare  they  have  seen  her  plunge  into 
the  fiord  and  reappear  as  an  eider-duck  and  walk  on  the  waves 
in  a  storm.  The  herdsmen  say  the  sky  in  rainy  weather  is 
always  clear  over  the  Castle,  and  always  blue  over  her  head 
when  she  goes  out." 

Wilfrid  asked  to  look  at  Swedenborg's  works,  and  began 
to  read.  After  supper,  the  men  read,  while  Minna  sewed  and 
dreamed  over  her  recollections. 

At  midnight  the  outer  door  was  suddenly  pushed  open  and 
heavy,  hasty  steps  of  a  terrified  man  were  heard  in  the  vestibule. 
David  burst  into  the  room,  crying:  "Violence!  Come!  The 
devils  are  unchained!  They  wear  miters  of  flame — Adonis, 
Vertunmus,  the  Sirens — they  are  tempting  her!  Come,  and 
drive  them  away!"  The  Pastor  laughed  at  the  old  man's 
terror;  but  Wilfrid  and  Minna  were  deeply  affected.  David 
said  that  for  nearly  five  hours  she  had  been  standing  with  eyes 
raised  and  arms  uplifted  in  torment,  calling  upon  God.  David 
could  not  cross  the  line;  the  devils  had  raised  an  iron  barrier 
between  him  and  her.     His  despair  was  terrible. 

They  all  hastened  to  the  Castle,  Wilfrid  and  Minna  in 
advance. 

"What  a  blaze  of  light!"  cried  Minna,  as  they  reached  the 
parlor  window.     "There  he  is!     Great  God!    and  how  beau- 


124  SERAPHITA 

tiful!  Oh,  my  Seraphitus,  take  me  to  thee!"  She  saw  Sera- 
phitus  standing  in  an  opal-tinted  mist,  which  was  diffused  all 
round  the  phosphorescent  body. 

"How  lovely  she  is!"  exclaimed  Wilfrid.  The  Pastor  now 
came  up,  and  looked  in:  "Well,  David,  she  is  saying  her 
prayers!"  Suddenly  all  was  dark.  They  walked  home  in 
silence.  Pastor  Becker  felt  doubt;  Minna,  adoration;  Wil- 
frid, desire. 

Wilfrid  was  thirty-six:  he  was  of  middle  height  and  well- 
proportioned,  and  he  had  thick  black  hair  and  brown  eyes, 
with  strong  features.  Intellectually,  he  was  truly  balanced. 
He  had  been  a  student  and  kept  late  hours  in  European  cap- 
itals, seen  active  service,  and  traveled  extensively.  He  had 
studied  matter  and  spirit  and  had  the  longing  for  the  Beyond 
which  comes  to  most  men  of  knowledge,  power,  and  will.  Com- 
ing by  chance  to  Jarvis,  he  saw  Seraphita  one  day,  and  all 
memories  of  his  past  were  wiped  out.  He  did  not  offer  her 
the  ordinary  idealization  of  lovers,  but  really  believed  in  her 
divinity.  From  the  first  moment,  when  he  suspected  the 
ethereal  nature  of  this  sorceress  who  had  told  him  the  secret 
of  his  life  in  harmonious  dreams,  he  resolved  to  try  to  subjugate 
her  and  steal  her  from  heaven.  He  would  be  the  representative 
of  humanity,  of  this  earth,  recapturing  their  prey. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  on  the  pretext  of  inquiring  for 
news  of  Seraphita,  he  went  to  cross-examine  David.  The  old 
man  explained  in  ecstatic  language  how  the  devils  tempted, 
while  the  archangels  stood  afar  and  looked  on.  Mammon, 
Lucifer,  the  Prince  of  Serpents,  the  Queen  of  the  Covetous, 
the  Sea  in  her  mantle  of  green,  the  Animal  with  the  talons  of 
an  eagle,  the  legs  of  a  lion,  the  head  of  a  woman,  and  the  body 
of  a  horse,  the  Child  with  its  plaints.  Song  with  its  music,  the 
Kings  of  the  East  with  its  luxury,  the  wounded  clamoring  for 
help,  the  wretched,  crying,  "Do  not  leave  us,"  Flowers  with 
their  perfumes,  the  Giant  Anakim  bringing  Gold;  their  com- 
rades and  all  the  Spirits  of  the  Astral  Worlds  who  had  followed 
them,  Death  promising  obedience,  and  Life  saying,  "I  will 
not  desert  thee!"  They  all  cried:  "We  have  fed  thee;  thou 
art  our  child!  Do  not  forsake  us!"  The  angelic  spirits 
marveled  at  her  constancy,  and  chorused  "Courage!"     At  last 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  125 

she  triumphed  over  Desire,  unchained  to  rend  her,  in  every 
shape  and  species. 

Wilfrid  went  back  to  the  manse  and  discussed  the  affair 
with  the  Pastor,  who  thought  that  Seraphita  was  merely  mad. 
Wilfrid  could  not  understand  her  vast  knowledge,  when  she 
never  had  been  beyond  the  fiord,  nor  ever  read  a  book,  except 
Swedenborg's  writings.  When  Minna  came  in,  and  her  father 
asked  her  how  her  spirit-friend  was,  she  rephed:  "He  is 
suffering,  father.  The  passions  of  humanity,  tricked  out  in 
their  false  splendor,  tortured  him  in  the  night  and  spread  in- 
credible pomp  before  his  eyes." 

Wilfrid  asked  her  whether  she  believed  in  the  reality  of 
these  apparitions.     She  rephed: 

"Who  can  doubt,  that  hears  him  tell  of  them?" 

"Him?    Who?"  asked  Wilfrid.    "You  speak  of  Seraphita?" 

She  hung  her  head  and  replied :  "  Yes,  you  too  take  pleasure 
in  confusing  my  mind.     What  is  your  idea  of  her?" 

"What  I  feel  is  inexphcable." 

"You  are  both  mad,"  said  the  Pastor. 

The  next  evening  was  to  them  what  the  supper  at  Emmaus 
was  to  the  three  travelers.  The  aspects  of  the  world  were  to 
be  revealed,  veils  rent,  and  doubts  dispelled. 

On  being  shown  in  by  old  David,  they  found  Seraphita 
standing  by  the  tea-table.  She  greeted  them  affectionately, 
and  told  the  Pastor  that  he  did  well  to  come,  because  he  was 
seeing  her,  perhaps,  for  the  last  time,  for  the  winter  had  killed 
her.  He  replied  that  he  wanted  more  of  her  than  the  dainties 
of  her  tea-table,  and  would  like  her  to  clear  up  some  of  their 
doubts.  Seraphita  at  great  length  then  gave  them  her  ideas 
on  Spirit  and  Matter,  Skepticism  and  Behef,  Number  and 
Motion,  Finite  and  Infinite,  Affinities  and  Similarities.  In  con- 
clusion she  said:  "All  your  sciences  of  to-day,  which  make 
you  so  great  in  your  own  eyes,  are  a  mere  trifle  compared  with 
the  Hght  that  floods  the  Seer.  Cease  to  question  me:  we  speak 
a  different  language.  I  have  used  yours  for  once  to  throw  a 
flash  of  faith  upon  your  souls,  to  cast  a  comer  of  my  mantle 
over  you  and  tempt  you  away  to  the  glorious  regions  of  prayer. 
Is  it  God's  part  to  stoop  to  you?  Is  it  not  yours  rather  to  rise 
to  Him?    The  Seer  and  the  behever  have  within  themselves 


126  SERAPHITA 

eyes  more  piercing  than  are  those  eyes  which  are  bent  on  things 
of  earth,  and  they  discern  a  dawn.  Your  most  exact  sciences, 
your  boldest  speculations,  your  brightest  flashes  of  light  are 
but  clouds.  Above  them  all  is  the  sanctuary  whence  the  true 
Light  is  shed." 

The  subject  then  dropped,  and  during  the  general  conver- 
sation, Wilfrid  asked  her  why  she  did  not  marry.  She  said 
she  had  been  betrothed  from  her  birth,  and  she  would  invite 
them  to  her  wedding.  She  privately  told  Wilfrid  that  she  had 
divined  his  wishes,  and  begged  him  to  cease  to  cherish  evil 
thoughts  whose  triumph  would  be  a  torment  to  endure.  To 
Minna,  Seraphita  said:  "If  you  could  not  look  into  the  gulf 
without  destruction,  keep  your  powers  for  him  who  will  love 
you.     Go,  poor  child,  I  am  betrothed,  as  you  know." 

On  their  way  home,  the  Pastor  said  he  began  to  think  she 
was  a  spirit  veiled  in  human  form;  Wilfrid  was  calmed,  con- 
vinced and  defeated;  Minna  said  to  herself :  "  Why  will  he  not 
allow  me  to  love  him?" 

Several  days  passed,  during  which  Seraphita  remained  in 
seclusion.  When  Minna  was  admitted,  she  noticed  that 
Seraphita's  voice  was  hollow,  and  her  complexion  wan.  "We 
shall  lose  him,"  said  Minna,  when  she  met  Wilfrid  outside. 
"Yes,  I  love  him;  why  should  I  not  be  free  to  declare  my 
affection?  In  the  presence  of  Death  we  may  all  confess  our 
attachment,  and  Seraphitus  is  dying."  Wilfrid  could  not  dis- 
abuse her  mind  of  this  idea. 

One  day  they  met  Seraphita  coming  out  of  the  Castle,  fol- 
lowed by  David,  and  she  invited  them  to  accompany  her  to 
the  Sieg,  which  was  now  falling  in  a  silvery  veil.  They  were 
all  silent  for  a  time  in  contemplation  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of 
spring. 

While  Minna  was  climbing  a  crag  for  some  blue  saxifrages, 
Wilfrid  made  a  passionate  appeal  to  S^aphita  to  join  him  in 
furthering  his  ambitious  schemes,  which  contemplated  the  over- 
throw of  the  English  rule  in  Asia.  He  was  chilled  by  her  reply 
that  she  had  reigned  already:  beings  more  powerful  than  he 
had  offered  her  more;  she  was  loved  with  a  boundless  love. 
Minna  returned  with  a  nosegay,  telhng  her  that  she  was  more 
beautiful  to  her  than  this  lovely  scenery  and  she  only  wished 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  127 

she  could  suffer  instead  of  Seraph ita.  Seraphita  took  a  last 
farewell  of  the  sublime  landscape,  and  to  all  humanity,  and 
had  to  be  helped  back  to  the  Castle. 

The  next  day  Wilfrid  and  Minna  went  to  see  her,  lying  on 
her  couch  of  furs.  David  was  weeping,  and  refused  to  listen 
to  her  consolations.  She  refused  the  Pastor's  urgent  insistence 
that  she  should  take  any  remedies.  Minna  at  last  learned  that 
the  being  that  Seraphitus  loved  above  all  others  was  God. 
Minna  knelt  and  begged  to  be  led  to  Him.  Wilfrid  also  cried : 
"Lead  us,  Seraphita,  you  have  made  me  thirst  for  the  Light 
and  for  the  Word.  If  I  may  not  win  you,  I  will  treasure  every 
feeling  that  you  can  infuse,  as  part  of  you."  With  a  look  that 
enfolded  them  both,  the  incomprehensible  being  cried:  "Angel! 
Heaven  is  thine  inheritance!"  She  then  instructed  them  how 
God  must  be  sought,  through  rough  ways,  for  His  own  sake, 
and  showed  how  efficacious  were  the  means  of  entering  on  the 
road  by  silence,  meditation,  and  prayer,  and  uttered  her  last 
dying  hymn  to  the  Almighty.  Like  a  white  dove,  the  soul 
hovered  for  a  moment  above  this  body,  of  which  the  exhausted 
materials  were  about  to  dissever.  The  aspiration  of  this  soul 
to  Heaven  was  so  infectious  that  Wilfrid  and  Minna  failed  to 
discern  Death,  and  were  inspired  by  the  ecstasy  of  Seraphitus. 
They  could  not  tell  how  they  found  themselves  on  the  border- 
line of  the  visible  and  the  invisible,  nor  how  they  had  lost  sight 
of  the  visible  and  perceived  only  the  invisible.  They  saw  the 
Spirit  knock  at  the  sacred  gate,  and  heard  the  questioning  of 
the  choir  within.  They  heard  the  soul's  reply:  "I  have  con- 
quered the  flesh  by  abstinence;  I  have  vanquished  false  speech 
by  silence,  false  knowledge  by  humility,  pride  by  charity,  and 
the  earth  by  love.  I  have  paid  my  tribute  of  suffering.  I  am 
purified,  by  burning  for  the  faith.  I  have  striven  for  life  by 
prayer;  I  wait,  adoring,  and  I  am  resigned." 

When  no  reply  came,  the  Spirit  cried:  "The  Lord  be 
praised!"  His  tears  flowed,  and  fell  on  the  kneeling  witnesses. 
Then  suddenly  the  trumpet  sounded  for  the  victory  of  the 
Angel  in  this  last  test.  The  veils  were  rerrt,  and  from  an  im- 
measurable height  they  saw  the  messenger  bearing  the  good 
tidings.  With  a  palm  he  touched  the  Spirit,  and  its  white 
wings  spread.     The  watchers  then  saw  the  Seraph  rise  through 


128  SERAPHITA 

blinding  lights  and  melodies  into  the  infinite  space.  Wilfrid 
and  Minna  in  their  vision  understood  some  of  the  mysterious 
words  of  the  being  who  on  earth  had  appeared  to  them  under 
the  form  which  was  intelligible  to  each — Seraphitus  to  one; 
Seraphita  to  the  other.  On  their  way  back  to  earth  from 
their  vision  of  the  higher  mysteries,  they  leaned  on  each  other 
for  love  and  strength.  They  took  each  other  by  the  hand. 
"Whither  are  you  going?"  asked  Pastor  Becker.  "To  God!" 
said  they.     "  Come  with  us,  Father." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  (1836) 

Among  his  own  novels  this  was  one  of  Balzac's  favorites.  In  1835  he  wrote 
to  Madame  Hanska:  "I  am  writing  a  great  and  beautiful  work,  entitled  Le  Lys 
dans  la  Vallee,  the  heroine  of  which  is  to  represent  terrestrial  perfection  as 
Seraphita  is  to  represent  celestial  perfection."  A  little  later  he  wrote:  "But 
the  Lily  I  If  the  Lily  is  not  a  breviary  for  women,  I  am  nothing!  In  it  virtue 
is  subhme  and  not  at  all  tiresome."  He  also  called  it  "  the  poetic  pendant  of 
The  Country  Doctor,  and  in  his  dedication  to  Dr.  Nacquart  he  wrote:  "Here  is 
one  of  the  most  highly  wrought  stones  of  the  second  story  of  a  literary  edifice 
that  is  being  slowly  and  laboriously  constructed."  The  book  was  published  in 
1836,  before  which  time  parts  of  it  had  appeared  in  the  Revue  de  Paris.  It 
was  not  finished  in  that  publication,  because  it  was  the  occasion  of  a  lawsuit, 
which  Balzac  won.  An  account  of  this  appeared  in  the  first  edition.  Some  of  the 
characters  appear  in  other  books:  the  hero,  FeHx  de  Vandenesse,  in  Une  Fille 
d'Eve  ("A  Daughter  of  Eve");  his  brother  Charles  in  La  Femnie  de  Trente  Arts 
("The  Woman  of  Thirty");  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf  in  Memoires  de  Deux 
Jeunes  Mariees  ("Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Wives")  and  Splendeurs  et  Miscres 
("Splendors  and  Miseries");  and  Natalie  de  Manerville  in  Le  Contrat  de  Mariage 
("The  Marriage  Contract").  When  writing  his  introduction  to  the  Comedie 
Humaine,  Balzac  remarked:  "A  sure  grasp  of  the  purport  of  this  work  will 
make  it  clear  that  I  attach  to  common,  daily  facts,  hidden  or  patent  to  the  eye, 
to  the  acts  of  individual  lives  and  to  their  causes  and  principles,  the  importance 
which  historians  have  hitherto  ascribed  to  the  events  of  pubUc  national  life. 
The  unknown  struggle  which  goes  on  in  a  valley  of  the  Indre  between  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  and  her  passion  is  perhaps  as  great  as  the  most  famous  of  battles. 
In  one,  the  glory  of  the  victor  is  at  stake;  in  the  other,  it  is  heaven." 

N  a  letter  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  Natalie  de 
Manerville,  from  one  who  signs  himself  "Felix," 
is  the  following:  I  yield  to  your  wish.  You  want 
my  past:  here  it  is.  .  .  .  Well,  you  have  guessed 
rightly,  Natalie,  and  it  is  better  perhaps  that  you 
should  know  everything:  yes,  my  life  is  over- 
shadowed by  a  phantom;  it  asserts  itself  vaguely 
at  the  least  word  that  evokes  it;  it  often  hovers 
over  me  unbidden.  I  have,  buried  within  my 
soul,  astounding  memories,  like  those  marine  growths  that  may 
be  seen  in  calm  waters,  and  that  the  surges  of  the  storm  fling 
in  fragments  on  the  shore.  ...  I  only  wish  my  confidence 
might  increase  your  tenderness  twofold. 

A  tender,  frail,  sickly,  and  sensitive  child,  misunderstood 
A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 9  129 


I30  THE  LILY   OF  THE  VALLEY 

and  neglected  by  my  parents,  and  so  unhappy  that  I  cursed  my 
existence,  I  spent  my  early  life  in  Tours.  At  fifteen  I  was  sent 
to  a  boarding-school  in  Paris;  and  at  nineteen  was  suddenly 
taken  back  to  Tours  by  my  parents,  on  account  of  the  political 
troubles.  I  watched  my  mother  anxiously  to  discover  whether 
there  were  in  her  heart  a  friable  spot  where  I  could  insert  some 
buds  of  affection.  I  flung  myself  desperately  into  my  father's 
library,  where  I  read  all  the  books  I  did  not  already  know.  I 
longed  for  death.  Great  events,  of  which  I  knew  nothing, 
were  then  in  the  air.  The  Due  d'Angouleme,  having  left  Bor- 
deaux to  join  Louis  XVIII  in  Paris,  was  to  be  the  recipient 
of  an  ovation.  Touraine  prepared  for  a  great  ball.  To  my 
amazement,  in  the  absence  of  my  father  and  brother,  I  was 
chosen  to  escort  my  mother.  When  I  was  dressed,  I  was  so 
httle  hke  myself  that  my  sister's  comphments  gave  me  courage 
to  make  my  appearance  before  the  whole  of  assembled  Touraine. 
Dazzled  by  the  lights,  the  crimson  hangings,  the  gilt  orna- 
ments, the  dresses  and  diamonds,  pushed  and  hustled,  too  shy 
and  awkward  to  ask  anyone  to  dance  with  me,  I  took  refuge 
at  the  extreme  end  of  a  vacant  bench.  A  woman,  misled  by 
my  delicate  looks,  took  me  for  a  boy  half-asleep,  and  seated 
herself  by  me  with  the  light  movement  of  a  bird  settling  on  its 
nest.  I  was  at  once  aware  of  a  feminine  fragrance  which  flashed 
upon  my  soul  as  Oriental  poetry  has  flashed  upon  it  since.  I 
was  more  dazzled  by  her  than  I  had  been  by  the  ball.  My 
eyes  were  suddenly  fascinated  by  the  white,  rounded  shoulders. 
Looking  round  to  make  sure  that  no  one  saw  me,  I  kissed  those 
shoulders,  rubbing  my  cheek  against  them.  The  lady  gave  a 
piercing  cry,  turned  sharply  aroimd  and  said,  "Monsieur!" 
I  was  petrified  by  a  look  fired  with  righteous  anger.  She  rose 
and  walked  away  with  the  dignity  of  a  queen.  I  went  home  and 
to  bed,  an  altered  creature.  A  new  soul,  a  soul  with  iridescent 
wings,  had  burst  its  chrysalis  within  me.  My  favorite  star,  drop- 
ping from  the  blue  waste,  had  become  Woman,  while  preserving 
its  light,  its  sparkle,  and  its  brilliancy.  Suddenly,  knowing 
nothing  of  love,  I  had  fallen  in  love.  As  I  thought  that  my 
chosen  lady  dwelt  in  Touraine,  I  inhaled  the  air  with  rapture; 
I  saw  a  blue  in  the  sky  which  I  have  never  since  perceived  else- 
where.    Though  mentally  in  ecstasy,  I  seemed  to  be  ill;    my 


HONORE  DE  BALZaC  131 

mother,  alarmed  and  remorseful,  decided  that  I  should  spend 
a  few  days  at  Frapesic,  a  chateau  on  the  Indre,  between  Mont- 
vazon  and  Azay-le-Rideau,  with  a  friend  of  hers.  I  knew  not 
my  fair  one's  name;  but  as  1  passed  through  the  emerald 
valley  of  the  Indre,  I  thought  if  this  woman,  the  flower  of  her 
sex,  inhabits  a  spot  on  earth,  it  must  be  this !  My  heart  had  not 
deceived  me:  it  was  there  that  she  dwelt;  the  first  chateau  I 
could  see  was  her  home!  Her  cambric  dress  was  the  white 
spot  I  could  see  among  some  vines  under  a  pleached  alley. 
She  was  the  Lily  of  the  Valley,  where  she  grew  for  heaven, 
filling  it  with  her  virtues.  My  host.  Monsieur  de  Chessel, 
afterward  told  me  that  this  chateau  was  Clochegourde,  and 
belonged  to  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  a  representative  of  an  old 
Touraine  family.  "Does  she  often  go  to  Tours?"  I  asked. 
"She  went  there  lately  on  the  occasion  when  the  Due  d'An- 
gouleme  passed  through,"  he  replied.  He  offered  to  take  me 
to  Clochegourde. 

As  I  mounted  the  winding  road  to  Clochegourde,  my  heart 
throbbed  in  anticipation  of  the  secret  events  which  were  about 
to  transform  it  once  for  all.  A  servant  told  us  that  Monsieur 
le  Comte  had  gone  to  Azay ;  but  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  at 
h  jme.  She  appeared  at  the  drawing-room  door,  and  our  eyes 
luet.  Which  of  us  reddened  most  deeply,  I  do  not  know.  She 
returned  to  her  seat  in  front  of  an  embroidery-frame,  counted 
two  or  three  stitches,  and  then  raised  her  proud  yet  gentle  head 
to  ask  M.  de  Chessel  to  what  happy  chance  she  owed  the 
pleasure  of  his  visit.  M.  de  Chessel  told  her  that  my  parents 
had  brought  me  home  to  Tours  when  the  war  threatened  Paris, 
and  as  I  was  exhausted  by  my  studies,  they  had  sent  me  to 
Frapesle  to  rest  and  amuse  myself.  We  remained  at  Cloche- 
gourde to  dinner. 

Felix  now  described  the  house,  the  beautiful  view,  the  two 
frail  children,  Madeleine  and  Jacques,  and  the  Count,  who, 
though  only  five-and-forty,  appeared  to  be  sixty.  He  was 
nearly  bald,  his  face  looked  like  that  of  a  white  wolf  with  a 
blood-stained  muzzle.  Yet,  for  all  this,  he  had  the  air  of  a 
gentleman.  His  lack  of  vitality  had  been  transmitted  to  his 
children,  and  their  health  was  the  one  thought  of  their  devoted 
mother.     Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  strength  had  been  under- 


132  THE  LILY   OF  THE  VALLEY 

mined  by  suffering.  A  devoted  adherent  of  the  Bourbons,  he 
had  served  in  the  army,  been  exiled,  and  seen  days  of  abject 
misery  and  ilbiess.  He  was  now  suffering  from  a  disease  which 
had  developed  a  capricious  temper  and  hypochondria.  His 
gentle  wife,  fully  appreciating  his  condition,  endeavored  to 
clothe  this  ruin  with  the  ivy  of  her  gracious  nature.  Felix 
soon  understood  the  situation.  He  grew  deeper  and  deeper  in 
love,  and  became  a  constant  visitor  at  the  chateau.  He  at- 
tempted also  to  entertain  the  querulous  Count,  by  taking  long 
walks  with  him  and  playing  backgammon.  One  evening,  after 
Felix  had  beaten  the  Count,  and  the  latter,  swept  by  a  terrible 
gust  of  passion,  poured  forth  a  perfect  storm  of  abuse,  FeHx 
walked  alone  on  the  terrace.  He  was  soon  joined  by  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  who  begged  him  to  forget  the  scene;  but  she  told 
him  that  his  sympathetic  friendship  was  a  support  to  her. 
Felix  tried  to  apologize  for  his  behavior  at  the  ball;  but  she 
would  not  talk  about  this  episode.  He  told  her,  however,  how 
love  had  come  into  his  heart  through  her,  and  told  her  the  story 
of  his  unhappy  childhood.  She  exclaimed  that  her  childhood 
also  had  been  a  time  of  great  unhappiness,  and  confided  to 
Felix  the  sorrows  of  her  married  life. 

"I  have  entered  into  your  sorrows  and  I  am  one  with  your 
soul,"  said  Fehx.  "I  am  yours  without  reserve  and  will  be  just 
what  you  wish  me  to  be."  She  checked  him  by  a  gesture, 
saying:  "I  consent  to  the  compact  if  you  will  never  strain  the 
ties  that  bind  us."  She  added:  "Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  calls 
me  Blanche.  The  one  person  I  loved  best,  my  adorable  aunt, 
used  to  call  me  Henriette.     I  will  be  Henriette  again  for  you." 

Great  changes  suddenly  took  place.  On  the  restoration 
of  the  Bourbons,  the  Count  was  promoted  to  Major- General, 
and  received  the  Cross  of  St.  Louis  and  a  pension  of  four 
thousand  francs.  The  Countess's  father,  the  Due  de  Lenon- 
court-Givry,  was  made  a  peer,  with  an  appointment  at  court, 
and  his  wife's  property  was  restored.  Thus,  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf became  a  great  heiress. 

Felix  and  the  Countess  discussed  the  future — the  future  of 
her  children,  and  his  future.  The  Countess,  who  noticed  little 
Madeleine's  hand  in  his,  offered  it  to  him. 

"Madeleine!"  he  cried.     "Never!" 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  133 

These  two  words  left  them  silent  and  greatly  agitated. 
Felix's  own  narrative  continued : 

"I  was  ere  long  one  of  the  family.  But  if  I  had  the  de- 
lights of  being  thus  naturalized  in  a  family  where  I  made  re- 
lationships after  my  own  heart,  I  also  paid  the  penaUies.  The 
Count's  intolerable  temper  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  his  de- 
light in  domineering  over  his  sensitive  wife  increased  daily. 
She  turned  to  me  more  and  more  for  sympathy." 

When  Fehx  left  for  Paris,  he  carried  with  him  a  loving  letter 
from  the  Countess  full  of  advice;  and  through  her  influence, 
Felix  found  favor  with  Louis  XVIII.  Eight  months  later,  he 
again  visited  Clochegourde.  He  spent  several  days  at  the 
chateau  and  returned  to  Paris. 

On  a  leave  of  absence,  Fehx  hastened  to  Clochegourde. 
Henriette  had  had  a  vision  of  the  future,  in  which  Felix  had 
turned  his  back  upon  her.  Felix  vowed  his  undying  love. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  grew  daily  more  unhappy  in  her  married 
hfe,  and  cast  her  burdens  upon  the  sympathetic  Felix.  The 
Count  had  a  terrible  illness  and  was  tenderly  nursed  by  his 
wife  and  Felix;  but  upon  recovery  he  became  even  more 
tyrannical.     The  King  summoned  Felix  back  to  Paris. 

"At  this  juncture,"  says  Felix,  "I  met  in  the  rooms  of  the 
Elys^e  one  of  those  superb  Enghsh  ladies  who  are  almost 
queens.  She  was  a  beauty  and  a  wit,  and  married  to  a  dis- 
tinguished British  peer.  She  had  become  the  idol  of  Parisian 
society.  My  acquaintance  with  Lady  Dudley  was  notorious; 
and  my  obstinacy  increased  her  passion.  .  .  .  Protected  as  I 
was  by  my  passion  for  Henriette,  still  I  was  not  at  an  age  to 
be  insensible  to  the  threefold  attractions  of  pride,  devotion,  and 
beauty,  that  said :  '  If  I  were  loved  as  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is, 
I  would  sacrifice  everything  to  you.'  One  evening,  after  a 
party,  where  she  had  shone  with  such  beauty  that  she  was  sure 
of  having  captivated  me,  I  found  her  in  my  rooms.  Lady 
Arabella  was  the  mistress  of  my  body;  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
was  the  wife  of  my  soul.  Being  a  traitor,  I  became  a  cheat. 
I  wrote  to  Madame  de  Mortsauf  as  if  I  were  still  the  boy  in  the 
ill-made  coat  she  was  so  fond  of;  but  I  own  her  gift  of  second- 
sight  appalled  me,  when  I  thought  of  the  disaster  any  indis- 
cretion might  bring  on  the  charming  castle  of  my  hopes.    My 


134  THE  LILY   OF  THE  VALLEY 

letters  remained  unanswered.  I  was  in  mortal  anxiety  and 
wanted  to  set  out  for  Clochegourde.  Arabella  spoke  as  a  matter 
of  course  of  going  with  me  to  Touraine.  She  agreed  to  remain 
in  the  country  near  Tours,  unknown,  disguised,  never  to  go  out 
by  daylight,  and  to  meet  me  at  night." 

Felix  was  received  coldly  by  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  who  knew 
all.  In  the  six  years  that  had  passed,  Madeleine,  now  fifteen, 
was  restored  to  health  and  growing  beautiful  Hke  her  mother; 
Jacques  was  still  fragile.  The  Countess  was  now  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  to  Felix  and  not  Henriette,  as  of  yore.  "If  I  have 
been  mistaken  in  my  life,  it  is  she  who  is  right — she!^^  added 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,  as  she  begged  Felix  to  be  faithful  to  Ara- 
bella. A  long  conversation  on  the  terrace  proved  too  great  a 
strain  upon  the  Countess. 

The  next  week,  when  she  had  recovered  from  a  fit  of  illness, 
Felix  begged  to  be  restored  to  her  heart. 

One  day,  while  driving  with  Felix,  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
directed  the  coachman  to  the  Landes  de  Charlemagne.  She 
was  determined  to  see  Lady  Dudley,  who  was  waiting  for  Felix 
there. 

As  they  journeyed  on.  Lady  Arabella,  a  magnificent  horse- 
woman, dashed  by,  and  pulled  up.  Recognizing  her  rival,  she 
dashed  away  again.  After  Felix  had  left  her  at  Clochegourde, 
Henriette  insisted  that  he  should  return  to  Lady  Dudley.  He 
did  so,  reaching  Saint -Cyr,  where  she  was  lodging,  at  midnight. 
Felix  tried  to  make  Arabella  understand  Henriette's  nature; 
but  it  was  impossible.  She  persuaded  Felix  to  return  to  Cloche- 
gourde. Felix  found  the  Countess  pale  and  grief-stricken. 
He  was  in  an  awkward  situation.  "I  could  not  be  at  Cloche- 
gourde by  day  and  at  Saint -Cyr  by  night.  Arabella  had 
counted  on  my  sense  of  delicacy  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf's 
magnanimity." 

In  the  evening,  when  Felix  took  leave  of  the  family  on  the 
terrace,  the  Countess  asked  him  to  walk  down  the  avenue  with 
her.  "Good-by,  my  friend,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arms 
around  his  neck  with  her  head  on  his  heart;  "we  shall  see  each 
other  no  more.  God  has  given  me  the  melancholy  power  of 
looking  into  the  future."  A  very  tender  scene  followed,  in  which 
Felix  told  Henriette  she  was  his  best  beloved — his  only  love. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  135 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  Felix  devoted  himself  to  Lady  Dud- 
ley; but  he  was  not  happy;  and  after  a  time  Arabella's  love 
became  intolerable. 

Hearing  that  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  dying,  Felix  got 
leave  from  the  King  to  visit  Clochegourde. 

The  Ahh6  Birotteau,  one  of  those  men  whom  God  has 
marked  for  His  own  by  clothing  them  in  gentleness  and  sim- 
plicity, and  endowing  them  with  patience  and  mercy,  drew 
Felix  aside:  "Monsieur,"  he  said,  "you  must  know  that  I 
have  done  all  that  was  humanly  possible  to  prevent  this  meet- 
ing between  you.  The  salvation  of  that  saint  required  it,  I 
thought  only  of  her,  not  of  you.  Now  that  you  are  going  once 
more  to  her,  whose  door  ought  to  be  held  against  you  by  angels, 
I  must  inform  you  that  I  intend  to  be  present  to  protect  her 
against  you,  and  perhaps  against  herself!  Respect  her  feeble 
state."  They  reached  the  door  of  her  room,  and  the  anxious 
priest  opened  it.  FeHx  then  saw  Henriette,  dressed  in  white, 
reclining  on  her  little  sofa  in  front  of  the  fireplace;  on  the 
chinmey-shelf  were  two  vases  filled  with  flowers;  there  were 
more  flowers  on  a  table  in  front  of  a  window.  Her  haggard 
face,  under  a  voluminous  lace  scarf,  had  the  greenish  pallor  of 
magnolia  flowers  when  they  first  open,  and  looked  like  the  first 
outline  of  a  portrait  of  a  head  we  love  sketched  in  chalk  on 
yellow-white  canvas. 

"You  will  bring  me  health  as  you  used  to  do,  Felix,"  said 
she,  "and  my  valley  will  be  good  to  me  again.  My  dear,  prove 
to  me  that  I  am  not  to  die,  and  to  die  disappointed.  They 
think  that  I  suffer  most  from  thirst.  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  thirsty, 
my  dear.  It  hurts  me  dreadfully  to  see  the  waters  of  the  Indre ; 
but  my  heart  suffers  a  more  burning  thirst.  I  thirsted  for 
you,"  she  said  in  a  smothered  voice,  taking  Felix's  hands  in 
her  burning  hands,  and  drawing  him  toward  her  to  whisper 
in  his  ear:  "My  agony  was  that  I  could  not  see  you.  Did  you 
not  bid  me  hve? — I  will  hve!  I  will  ride — I,  too,  will  know 
everything — Paris,  festivities,  pleasures!" 

This  dreadful  outcry  made  their  ears  tingle — the  old  priest's 
and  Fehx's;  the  tones  of  that  beautiful  voice  represented  the 
struggles  of  a  whole  life,  the  anguish  of  a  true  love  always 
balked. 


136  THE  LILY   OF  THE  VALLEY 

The  Countess  stood  up  with  an  impatient  effort,  like  a 
child  that  wants  a  toy.  When  the  confessor  saw  his  penitent 
in  this  mood,  the  poor  man  fell  on  his  knees,  clasped  his  hands 
and  began  to  pray.  "Yes,  I  will  hve,"  she  cried,  making  FeHx 
stand,  too,  and  leaning  on  him;  "hve  on  realities  and  not  on 
lies.  My  whole  life  has  been  one  of  lies;  I  have  been  counting 
them  over  these  last  days.  Is  it  possible  that  I  should  die,  I, 
who  have  not  lived?" 

"The  next  day  but  one,"  writes  Felix,  "on  a  cool  autumn 
morning,  we  followed  the  Countess  to  her  last  home.  Made- 
leine's hostility  closed  Clochegourde  to  me.  I  determined  to 
rush  into  politics  and  science,  by  the  tortuous  paths  of  am- 
bition, to  cut  woman  out  of  my  life  entirely,  and  be  a  statesman 
— cold,  passionless,  faithful  to  the  saint  I  had  loved.  My 
thoughts  went  far  away  out  of  sight,  while  my  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  glorious  background  of  golden  oaks,  with  their  somber 
heads  and  feet  of  bronze.  I  asked  myself  whether  Henriette's 
virtue  had  not  been  mere  ignorance,  whether  I  were  really 
guilty  of  her  death.  I  struggled  against  the  burden  of  re- 
morse. At  last,  one  limpid  autumn  day,  under  one  of  heaven's 
latest  smiles,  so  lovely  in  Touraine,  I  read  the  letter  which,  by 
her  instructions,  I  was  not  to  open  before  her  death — and  I 
read  the  whole  confession  of  her  love  for  me,  which  began  with 
my  kisses  at  the  ball  given  to  the  Due  d'Angouleme.  She  also 
begged  me  to  marry  Madeleine.  'Farewell,  dear  son  of  my 
heart,'  she  added,  'I  am  going  to  the  home  of  rest,  a  victim  of 
duty,  and — which  makes  me  shudder — I  cannot  go  without 
a  regret !  God  knows  better  than  I  can  whether  I  have  obeyed 
His  holy  laws  in  the  spirit.  I  have  often  stumbled,  no  doubt, 
but  I  never  fell,  and  the  most  pressing  cause  of  my  sorrows 
lay  in  the  temptations  that  surrounded  me.' 

"Henriette's  letter  showed  me  one  bright  star  of  hope.  To 
live  at  Clochegourde  with  Madeleine  and  devote  my  life  to  her 
was  a  lot  to  satisfy  all  the  ideas  that  tossed  my  soul.  I  went  to 
Clochegourde  to  call  on  the  Count.  I  told  the  Count  I  wished 
to  speak  to  Madeleine,  and  he  went  to  fetch  her.  She  stopped 
me  with  a  gesture,  'Monsieur,'  she  said,  in  a  voice  tremulous 
with  agitation,  'I,  too,  know  all  your  mind.  I  would  rather 
drovm  myself  in  the  Indre  than  marry  you.     If  my  mother's 


HONQRE   DE   BALZAC  137 

name  can  still  influence  you,  in  her  name  I  beg  you  never  to 
come  to  Clochegourdc  while  I  am  here.  The  mere  sight  of 
you  gives  me  such  distress  as  I  cannot  describe,  and  I  shall 
never  get  over  it.' 

"I  came  away  heart-broken;  and  set  out  for  Paris  along  the 
right  bank  of  the  Indre — the  road  by  which  I  had  come  down 
the  valley  for  the  first  time.  Then  my  heart  had  been  full  of 
desires;  now  I  felt  it  a  desert.  I  was  still  quite  young — nine- 
and-twenty — and  my  heart  was  crushed. 

"Lady  Dudley  was  far  from  my  mind,  when  I  found  that 
I  had  unconsciously  entered  her  courtyard.  Her  butler  showed 
me  as  I  was,  in  traveling-dress,  into  a  drawing-room,  where 
she  sat,  splendidly  dressed,  with  a  party  of  five  visitors. 

"Arabella  assumed  a  lofty  air.  She  looked  at  me  from 
head  to  foot,  as  she  might  have  looked  at  some  country  squire 
just  introduced.  As  to  our  intimacy,  our  eternal  passion,  her 
vows  that  she  must  die  if  I  ever  ceased  to  love  her — all  the 
phantasmagoria  of  Armida — it  had  vanished  like  a  dream. 
I  had  never  held  her  hand,  I  was  a  stranger,  she  did  not 
know  me. 

"From  that  day  I  have  never  seen  her  excepting  in  com- 
pany, where  we  exchange  friendly  bows,  with  sometimes  a 
repartee. 

"I  threw  myself  into  hard  work,  I  took  up  science,  litera- 
ture, and  politics.  On  the  accession  of  Charles  X,  who  abol- 
ished the  post  I  had  filled  under  the  late  King,  I  made  diplo- 
macy my  career.  From  that  hour,  I  vowed  never  to  pay  any 
attention  to  a  woman,  however  beautiful,  witty,  or  affec- 
tionate she  might  be.  However,  all  my  resolutions  have  come 
to  nothing — you  know  how  and  why. 

"Dearest  Natalie,  in  relating  my  whole  life  without  re- 
serve, in  confessing  to  you  feelings  in  which  you  had  no  part, 
I  may,  perhaps,  have  vexed  some  tender  spot  of  your  jealous 
and  sensitive  heart.  But  what  would  infuriate  a  vulgar  woman, 
will  be  to  you,  I  am  sure,  a  fresh  reason  for  loving  me.  .  .  . 
To-morrow  I  shall  know  whether  I  have  made  a  mistake  in 
loving  you." 

Natahe  de  Manerville  wrote  an  answer  to  the  Comte  Felix 
de  Vandenesse,  in  which  she  said:   "You  received,  as  you  tell 


138  THE  LILY   OF  THE  VALLEY 

me,  a  letter  from  poor  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  which  has  been 
of  some  use  in  guiding  you  through  the  world,  a  letter  to  which 
you  owe  your  high  fortunes.  Allow  me  to  finish  your  educa- 
tion. I  implore  you  to  divest  yourself  of  an  odious  habit.  Do 
not  imitate  certain  widows  who  are  always  talking  of  their 
first  husband  and  throwing  the  virtues  of  the  dear  departed  in 
the  teeth  of  the  second.  I,  dear  Count,  am  a  Frenchwoman; 
I  should  wish  to  marry  the  whole  of  the  man  I  love;  now,  I 
really  cannot  marry  Madame  de  Mortsauf.  After  reading  your 
narrative  with  the  attention  it  deserves — and  you  know  what 
interest  I  feel  in  you — it  strikes  me  that  you  must  have  bored 
Lady  Dudley  very  considerably  by  holding  up  to  her  Madame 
de  Mortsauf's  perfections,  while  deeply  wounding  the  Countess 
by  expatiating  on  the  various  resources  of  Enghsh  love-making. 
You  have  now  failed  in  tact  toward  me,  a  poor  creature  who 
can  boast  of  no  merit  but  that  of  having  attracted  your  hking; 
you  have  imphed  that  I  do  not  love  you  as  much  as  either 
Henriette  or  Arabella.  I  confess  my  deficiencies.  I  know 
them;  but  why  make  me  feel  them  so  cruelly? 

"Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  pity? — the  fourth  woman  you 
may  love.  She  will  inevitably  be  required  to  hold  her  own 
against  three  predecessors;  so,  in  your  interest  as  much  as  in 
hers,  I  must  warn  you  against  the  perils  of  your  memory.  I 
renounce  the  laborious  honor  of  loving  you.  I  should  require 
too  many  Catholic  or  Anglican  virtues,  and  I  have  no  taste  for 
fighting  ghosts.  .  .  .  Why,  my  dear  Count,  you  began  by 
loving  an  adorable  woman,  a  perfect  mistress,  who  undertook 
to  make  your  fortune,  who  procured  you  a  peerage,  who  loved 
you  to  distraction — and  you  made  her  die  of  grief!  Why, 
nothing  can  be  more  monstrous.  .  .  .  You  met  Lady  Dudley 
too  soon  to  appreciate  her,  and  the  evil  you  say  of  her  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  revenge  of  your  wounded  vanity;  you  under- 
stood Madame  de  Mortsauf  too  late;  you  punished  each  for  not 
being  the  other;  what  then  would  become  of  me,  being  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other?  ...  If  you  want  to  live  in  the  world 
and  mingle  on  equal  terms  with  women,  conceal  with  care  all 
you  have  told  me;  they  do  not  care  to  strew  the  flowers  of  their 
affections  on  stones,  or  lavish  their  caresses  to  heal  a  wounded 
heart.     Every  woman  will  at  once  discern  the  shallowness  of 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  139 

your  heart,  and  you  will  constantly  be  more  unhappy.  Very 
few  will  be  frank  enough  to  tell  you  what  I  have  told  you,  or 
good-natured  enough  to  dismiss  you  without  rancor  and  offer 
you  their  friendship,  as  she  now  does  who  still  remains  your 
sincere  friend,  Natalie  de  Manerville." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS  (1837) 
{Illusions  Perdues) 

This  novel  is  included  in  the  Scenes  de  la  Vic  de  Province.  The  first  part, 
Les  deux  Po'etes,  appeared  in  1837;  the  second,  Un  grand  Homme  de  Province 
a  Paris,  in  1839 ;  and  the  third,  David  Sechard,ou  les  Souff ranees  d'un  Invenieur,  in 
L'Etat  and  Le  Parisien-V Etat  in  1843.  In  1843  the  third  part  was  published  as 
Eve  et  David.  Chapters  were  suppressed  and  other  changes  made,  and  finally 
the  work  was  issued  as  Illusions  Per d lies,  consisting  of  two  parts:  The  Two 
Poets  and  Eve  and  David.  The  second  part  was  pubhshed  as  a  separate  story, 
A  Distinguished  Provincial  at  Paris,  although  it  logically  occupies  a  place 
between  The  Two  Poets  and  Eve  and  David,  as  it  deals  with  Lucien's  Hfe  in 
Paris,  when  his  illusions  are  lost  one  by  one,  as  Eve's  and  David's  are  in  Angou- 
leme.  Some  of  the  characters  appear  in  other  books.  Eve,  David,  and  Madame 
Chardon  occur  in  Splendeurs  et  Miseres,  as  do  also  Lucien  de  Rubempre  and 
Carlos  Herrera,  who  is  none  other  than  Jacques  Colhn  alias  Vautrin,  the  con- 
summate villain  who  plays  an  important  part  in  Pere  Goriot.  Balzac  particularly 
admired  Eve.  He  wrote  to  Madame  Hanska:  "In  Illusions  Perdues  there  is 
a  young  girl  named  Eve  who  is  to  my  eyes  the  most  ravishing  creation  that  I 
have  made."     Illusions  Perdues  was  dedicated  to  Victor  Hugo. 

T  the  time  this  story  opens,  the  Stanhope  press 
and  the  inking-rollcr  were  not  in  general  use  in 
provincial  printing  establishments.  At  Angou- 
leme,  which  was  closely  connected  through  its 
paper-mills  with  the  art  of  typography  in  Paris, 
the  only  machinery  in  use  was  the  primitive 
wooden  press.  Leather  ink-balls  were  still  used; 
the  pressman  dabbed  the  ink  on  the  type  by 
hand;  and  the  bed  of  the  press,  being  made  of 
marble,  deserved  its  name  of  "impression  stone." 

Jerome-Nicholas  Sechard,  who  had  been  a  journeyman 
pressman,  being  fifty  years  old  in  1793,  escaped  the  conscrip- 
tion which  swept  so  many  French  workmen  into  the  army. 
Sechard  was  the  only  employe  left  in  the  printing-office;  and 
when  the  master  died  Sechard,  through  luck,  got  a  master- 
printer's  license,  although  he  could  neither  read  nor  write. 
He  bought  the  business,  amassed  a  fortune,  and  grew  more 
avaricious  day  by  day.     He  was  soon  left  a  widower  with  one 

140 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  141 

son,  David,  whom  he  treated  harshly,  made  him  work  at  the 
case  on  hoHdays,  and  finally  sent  him  to  Paris  to  learn  the 
higher  branches  of  typography  at  Didot's. 

David  was  summoned  home  in  1819  to  take  charge  of  his 
father's  business.  The  old  man  was  worried  because  the  firm 
of  Cointet  Brothers,  paper  manufacturers  of  Angouleme,  had 
applied  for  a  printer's  license.  "I  should  have  gone  to  the 
wall,"  he  thought,  "but  a  young  fellow  from  Didot's  will  pull 
through."  S^chard  had  a  passion  for  drink,  which  revealed 
itself  in  his  huge  nose  and  bloated  purple  cheeks.  His  little 
gray  eyes  were  agleam  with  the  cunning  of  avarice  that  ex- 
tinguished everything  else  in  the  man,  down  to  the  very  instinct 
of  fatherhood.  He  drove  a  sharp  bargain  with  David,  although 
the  latter  was  fully  aware  of  the  obsolete  character  of  the 
presses  and  old-fashioned  vignettes,  borders  and  ornamental 
letters  that  were  the  fashion  in  Angouleme  for  wedding-cards, 
calendars,  etc.  David  agreed  to  a  contract  of  partnership  be- 
tween S6chard  senior  and  son.  The  good  father  was  to  let 
his  house  and  premises  to  the  new  firm  for  twelve  hundred 
francs  a  year,  reserving  one  of  the  two  rooms  in  the  attic  for 
himself.  So  long  as  David's  purchase-money  was  not  paid  in 
full,  the  profits  were  to  be  divided  equally. 

David  now  found  himself  possessor  of  three  bare  rooms 
and  a  printing-house,  without  a  sou  to  pay  the  workmen's 
wages.  His  father,  even  as  partner,  refused  to  bear  any  share 
in  the  working  expenses.  David  then  questioned  his  father 
about  the  little  fortune  that  his  mother  left,  which  was  his  by 
right;  but  the  old  man  gave  him  no  satisfaction.  He  called 
David's  attention  to  another  treasure  that  went  with  the  print- 
ing-house— Marion,  a  big  country  girl  who  did  the  cooking, 
washing,  and  marketing,  dampened  and  cut  the  paper,  un- 
loaded the  paper-carts,  collected  accounts,  and  cleaned  the 
ink-balls. 

Old  Sechard  retired  to  his  vineyard  at  Marsac,  four  leagues 
from  Angouleme;  but  often  climbed  the  rocky  steps  into  the 
city  and  walked  into  the  office  to  see  how  his  son  was  getting 
on.  The  old  miser  scented  misfortune  in  the  wind;  the  name 
of  Cointet  Brothers  haunted  him  like  a  nightmare;  for  he 
saw  Sechard  and  Son  dropping  into  the  second  place.     He  was 


142  LOST  ILLUSIONS 

right:  disaster  was  hovering  over  the  house  of  Sechard.  At 
this  period,  in  order  to  secure  custom,  provincial  men  of  busi- 
ness had  to  profess  pohtical  opinions;  they  had  to  choose  be- 
tween the  patronage  of  the  Liberals  and  that  of  the  Royahsts. 
David  was,  unfortunately,  neutral  and  indifferent  regarding 
the  burning  questions  of  the  day.  The  Cointets  set  them- 
selves deliberately  to  assimilate  all  shades  of  monarchical 
opinion,  published  books  of  devotion  and  accused  David  of 
Liberalism,  Atheism,  and  what  not.  David's  business  began 
to  fall  off,  while  that  of  the  Cointets  increased.  Finally  they 
bought  from  David  the  Charente  Chronicle,  David  pledging 
himself  to  print  no  newspaper  thenceforward;  and  this  left 
Sechard  and  Son  only  job-printing  orders — the  death-blow  to 
David's  business.  The  old  man  took  the  cash  and  still  charged 
his  son  the  same  rent  for  the  premises.  The  old  foreman, 
too,  went  over  to  the  rival  establishment.  David  now  ran 
across  an  old  schoolfellow  in  direst  poverty,  Lucien  Chardon, 
the  son  of  a  surgeon-major,  who  had  retired  from  the  Repub- 
lican army  and  opened  a  druggist's  business  in  Angouleme. 
On  his  death,  his  wife,  a  beautiful  woman  of  noble  family, 
sold  the  shop,  and  she  and  her  daughter  were  forced  to  work 
for  a  living.  Madame  Chardon  called  herself  "Madame  Char- 
lotte" and  went  out  as  a  monthly  nurse;  and  her  daughter 
worked  for  a  laundry.  Every  cent  they  could  scrape  together 
was  bestowed  on  Lucien,  who  was  their  hope  and  pride. 
David  offered  Lucien  forty  francs  a  month  if  he  would  learn 
the  art  of  the  proofreader,  and  the  two  friends  now  worked 
together. 

David  soon  caught  a  glimpse  of  Lucien's  sister.  Eve,  and 
loved  her.  Lucien  came  to  be  David's  chosen  brother;  and 
David  outdid  the  mother  and  sister  in  their  belief  in  Lucien's 
genius.  He  spoiled  Lucien  as  a  mother  spoils  her  child. 
Lucien  thought  of  a  plan  that  his  father  had  had  for  employing 
vegetable  fiber  in  the  making  of  paper,  something  after  the 
Chinese  fashion,  and  effecting  an  enormous  saving  in  the  cost 
of  raw  material. 

In  May,  1821,  David  and  Lucien  were  sitting  in  the  yard 
under  the  vines  beiiind  the  dilapidated  office.  David's  phy- 
sique was  the  kind  that  Nature  gives  to  the  fighter.     He  had 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  143 

strong  shoulders,  a  broad  chest,  thick,  black  hair,  a  swarthy 
face,  and  a  steady  light  in  his  eyes.  Lucien  was  beautiful: 
he  had  a  Greek  profile,  golden  curls,  a  white  forehead,  shapely 
hands,  and  a  slender,  graceful  figure.  David  considered  him- 
self the  ox  and  Lucien  the  eagle.  They  read,  talked,  and 
thought  together.  David  discovered  Lucien's  passion  for 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  a  queen  of  society  in  Angouleme,  whose 
salon  attracted  all  the  local  celebrities.  Her  name  was  Marie- 
Louise-Anais  de  Negrepelisse,  the  daughter  of  a  noble  long 
relegated  to  obscurity.  She  was  now  thirty-six,  and  was 
burdened  with  a  husband  of  fifty-eight,  who  was  colorless  and 
uninteresting  to  the  last  degree.  Among  the  satellites  of  her 
drawing-room  was  an  old  Parisian  beau,  the  Baron  Sixte  du 
Chatelet,  an  adept  in  many  graces  and  accomplishments  and 
something  of  a  diplomat,  with  ambitions  for  political  advance- 
ment. Lucien  had  attracted  Madame  de  Bargeton's  attention 
and  was  invited  to  read  some  of  his  poems  at  one  of  her  eve- 
nings. He  had  fallen  in  love  with  this  goddess  and  she  flattered 
and  patronized  the  young  poet  of  twenty.  Lucien,  at  this 
time,  was  living  with  his  mother  and  sister  in  a  few  cheap  little 
rooms  let  to  them  by  Monsieur  Postel,  who  had  succeeded  to 
the  business  of  Lucien's  father.  It  required  much  courage 
for  Madame  de  Bargeton  to  introduce  the  young  poet.  All  the 
celebrities  of  Angouleme  were  present,  including  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet;  and  Lucien's  recitations  failed  to  make  the  desired 
impression.  He  was  also  ill  at  ease  and  unequal  to  the  society 
into  which  he  was  suddenly  plunged.  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  he  was  introduced  under  his  mother's  noble  name, 
De  Rubempre,  people  soon  discovered  that  he  was  only  the  son 
of  a  druggist  and  his  mother  was  a  nurse.  Tongues  wagged 
freely  in  the  drawing-room,  and  Lucien  was  not  a  success. 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  however,  was  more  in  love  with  her 
protege  than  ever,  especially  after  he  had  recited  his  impassioned 
stanzas  entitled  To  Her. 

While  Lucien  was  causing  this  gossip  at  Madame  de 
Bargeton's,  David  and  Eve  took  a  walk  on  the  banks  of  the 
Charente;  and,  while  the  soft  hues  of  sunset  were  glorifying 
the  river  and  the  sweet  scent  of  flowers  was  perfuming  the  air, 
David  told  his  love,  which  found  response  in  Eve's  tender 


144  LOST  ILLUSIONS 

heart.  Their  love  was  the  blossom  of  "  two  rare  natures  spring- 
ing up  out  of  a  rich  and  fruitful  soil  on  foundations  of  rock." 
They  talked  not  only  of  their  future  life,  but  of  Lucien  and  his 
future,  his  genius,  and  his  connection  with  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton.  When  Eve  promised  to  marry  David,  he  told  her,  too,  of  his 
secret  hope  of  making  a  fortune  out  of  pulp  to  supplant  rags  in 
the  making  of  paper.  He  went  into  the  history  and  details  of 
the  manufacture  of  paper  and  took  his  promised  bride  into  his 
confidence.  Old  S^chard  gave  his  consent,  but  nothing  more, 
when  David  announced  his  approaching  marriage.  David  pre- 
pared the  simple  rooms  for  his  bride  and  also  a  room  for 
Lucien;  and,  meantime,  Angouleme  gossiped  about  Madame  de 
Bargeton  and  Lucien,  and  the  lady  paid  the  penalty  of  her 
sovereignty.  Lucien,  however,  became  known  as  Monsieur  de 
Rubempr^,  and  ceased  to  be  a  printer's  foreman.  He  had 
grown  great  in  his  own  eyes  and  looked  forward  to  the  day 
when  his  historical  romance.  An  Archer  of  Charles  IX,  and 
his  volume  of  verses,  entitled  Marguerites,  should  spread 
fame  throughout  the  world  of  literature  and  bring  in  enough 
money  to  repay  his  mother,  sister,  and  David  for  all  they  had 
done. 

Stanilas  de  Chandour,  husband  of  the  rival  queen  of 
Angouleme,  calling  one  day  at  the  Bargetons,  found  Lucien 
on  his  knees  in  an  equivocal  position,  and  he  gossiped.  Chatelet 
fanned  the  flame;  and,  at  length,  Madame  de  Bargeton  made 
her  husband  behave  "like  a  gentleman  of  spirit."  He  had  to  fight 
a  duel  with  Monsieur  de  Chandour!  The  latter  was  wounded, 
and  Madame  de  Bargeton's  father,  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse, 
who  acted  as  his  son-in-law's  second,  took  him  home  with  him 
after  the  duel.  Louise  de  Bargeton  sent  for  Lucien,  and  an- 
nounced that  she  was  going  to  take  advantage  of  the  excite- 
ment to  go  to  Paris  and  seek  the  influence  of  her  cousin,  Madame 
d'Espard,  to  advance  Bargeton.  She  wanted  Lucien  to  ac- 
company her:  he  would  shine  in  Paris,  his  true  place:  the 
publishers  would  welcome  such  genius  as  his,  and  society  open 
its  doors.  He  would  meet  his  Louise  near  Mansle  and  they 
should  proceed  to  Paris,  where  they  would  live  together.  In 
the  midst  of  his  joy,  Lucien  remembered  that  his  sister  was  to 
be  married  within  two  days !    However,  he  promised  to  accom- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  145 

pany  Madame  de  Bargcton,  and  announced  the  news  to  David, 
Eve,  and  his  mother,  who  burst  into  tears.  Lucien  then  had 
to  find  money  for  his  Paris  trip.  His  devoted  mother  raised  a 
loan  of  a  thousand  francs  from  Postal  for  six  months,  which 
was  indorsed  by  David;  and  David  added  another  thousand 
francs,  which  he  could  ill  afford.  Lucien  went  away  with  his 
limited  wardrobe  and  small  package  of  manuscript.  David 
accompanied  the  poet  as  far  as  Mansle,  where  he  waited  for 
Madame  de  Bargcton;  and,  as  he  saw  Lucien  drive  away  in 
the  shabby  cabriolet,  David  had  terrible  presentiments  of  the 
fate  awaiting  him  in  Paris.  In  spite  of  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
precautions,  Chatelet  discovered  that  she  was  leaving  Angouleme 
and  sent  his  man  to  Ruffec  to  watch  every  carriage  that  changed 
horses  at  that  stage.  "If  she  is  taking  her  poet  with  her,"  he 
said,  "I  have  her  now!" 

Lucien  went  to  Paris,  and  "was  drawn  into  the  great  ma- 
chinery of  journalism,  where  he  was  like  to  have  his  honor  and 
his  intelligence  torn  to  shreds."  David  began  experiments  to 
discover  a  cheap  method  of  making  paper.  The  expenses  of 
his  marriage  and  Lucien's  journey  plunged  him  into  poverty 
at  the  outset  of  married  life.  He  could  not  bear  to  tell  his 
wife  of  his  troubles.  Soon  Postel's  bill  fell  due,  and  there  was 
no  money  to  meet  it.  Eve  gave  up  her  bridal  trinkets  and 
silver,  and  immediately  assumed  charge  of  the  printing-office. 
Cerizet,  an  apprentice  of  Didot's,  brought  by  David  to  Angou- 
leme, was  the  foreman;  Kolb,  an  Alsatian,  also  a  former  porter 
at  Didot's,  and  now  a  fairly  trained  "bear,"  and  the  faithful 
maid  of  all  work,  Marion,  with  whom  Kolb  was  in  love,  were 
her  aids.  While  David  worked  over  his  invention.  Eve  printed 
a  Shepherd's  Calendar,  with  symbols  and  pictures  in  colored 
inks,  and  some  old  legends  and  broadsides,  which  made  a  little 
money.  The  treacherous  Cdrizet  got  friendly  with  the  Cointet 
Brothers,  who  had  adopted  all  David's  improvements,  and  they 
kept  a  sharp  eye  on  the  clever  Madame  Sdchard.  Cdrizet, 
who  was  now  reading  proof  for  the  Cointets,  saw  that  Eve  dis- 
trusted him,  and  he  vowed  revenge.  When  Madame  Sechard 
tried  to  sell  the  printing-office,  the  Cointets  saw  the  adver- 
tisement; and,  fearing  a  more  dangerous  rival,  approached 
the  Sechards.     They  had  to  accept  the  terms  offered  by  the 

A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 10 


146  LOST  ILLUSIONS 

Cointets,  and  when  matters  were  settled  they  informed  Eve 
that  they  meant  to  make  Cerizet  lessee  of  the  premises. 

A  draft  of  five  hundred  francs  came  from  Lucien ;  but  they 
had  barely  received  this  before  a  cruel  letter  from  Lucien  told 
David  that  he  had  forged  three  bills  on  him,  to  fall  due  in  three 
months.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  on  a  visit  to  his  home  set  An- 
gouleme  gossiping  about  Lucien.  Eve  went  to  him  to  learn  the 
truth ;  and  young  Rastignac  told  her  of  Lucien's  connection  with 
the  actress  Coralie,  his  duel  with  Michel  Chrestien,  his  treacher- 
ous behavior  to  David  d'Arthez,  and  how  he  lost  his  chance  to 
get  the  patent  conferring  the  right  to  bear  the  name  and  arms 
of  Rubempre,  which  had  actually  been  made  out:  "If  your 
brother,  Madame,"  he  said,  "had  been  well  advised,  he  would 
have  been  on  the  way  to  honors,  and  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
husband  by  this  time;  but  what  can  you  expect?  He  deserted 
her  and  insulted  her.  She  is  now  Madame  la  Comtesse  Sixte 
du  Chatelet,  to  her  own  regret,  for  she  loved  Lucien."  Eve 
came  away  in  sorrow.  Her  tears  fell  on  the  child  at  her  breast ; 
and,  remembering  D'Arthez's  address,  which  Lucien  once  sent, 
she  wrote  to  him.  D'Arthez's  reply  gave  a  full  account  of 
Lucien's  Hfe  in  Paris  and  explained  the  weakness  of  Lucien's 
character  and  his  love  of  luxury,  pleasure,  and  admiration. 

It  was  now  imperative  to  renew  the  lease  with  the  Cointets. 
David,  encouraged  by  his  wife,  never  gave  up  experimenting 
with  pulp;  but  the  rival  firm  was  determined  to  probe  his 
secret.  Boniface,  "the  tall  Cointet,"  discovered  a  young 
attorney,  Pierre  Petit- Claud,  who  knew  David.  He  was  a 
sharp  and  snappish  little  fellow,  the  son  of  a  tailor,  and,  of 
course,  looked  down  upon  by  the  society  of  Angouleme.  Coin- 
tet dazzled  the  weedy  little  lawyer  with  a  proposition  of  what 
seemed  to  him  a  brilliant  marriage,  if  he  would  do  Cointet's 
bests.  He  must  go  and  offer  his  legal  services  to  David,  "The 
poor  devil,"  said  Cointet,  "has  three  thousand  francs'  worth 
of  bills  to  meet ;  he  cannot  meet  them ;  you  will  stave  off  legal 
proceedings  in  such  a  way  as  to  increase  the  expenses  enor- 
mously. ...  A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient.  Now,  young 
man?"  An  eloquent  pause  followed,  and  the  two  men  looked 
at  each  other.  "We  have  never  seen  each  other,"  Cointet  re- 
sumed, "I  have  not  said  a  syllable  to  you;  you  know  nothing 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  147 

about  Monsieur  du  Hautoy,  nor  about  Madame  dc  Senonches, 
nor  Mademoiselle  dc  la  Hayc;  only,  when  the  time  comes,  two 
months  hence,  you  will  propose  for  the  young  lady.  If  we 
should  want  to  see  each  other,  you  will  come  here  after  dark. 
Let  us  have  nothing  in  writing."  "Then  you  mean  to  ruin 
Sechard?"  asked  Petit-Claud.  "Not  exactly;  but  he  must  be 
in  jail  for  some  time,"  "And  what  is  the  object?"  "If  you 
have  wit  enough  to  find  out,  you  will  have  sense  enough  to  hold 
your  tongue,"  was  the  reply. 

The  Cointets  made  use  of  the  complicated  machinery  of 
banking  to  ruin  David.  The  bills  that  he  could  not  meet 
traveled  to  Paris.  Lucien  became  involved,  CoraHe's  estab- 
lishment was  placarded,  and  a  formidable  document  was  sent 
to  the  notary  at  Angouleme,  instructing  him  to  prosecute 
David  Sechard  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law,  for  four  thou- 
sand and  eighteen  francs  and  eighty-five  centimes.  The 
Sechards  sent  for  Petit-Claud.  David  walked  into  his  toils 
and  told  him  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  discovering  a  sheet  of 
paper  without  a  thread  of  cotton  in  it,  at  a  cost  of  fifty  per  cent, 
less  than  cotton  pulp.  "There  is  a  fortune  in  that!"  said  Petit- 
Claud;  and  he  now  knew  what  the  tall  Cointet  meant.  A 
sudden  spark  of  generosity  flashed  through  his  rancorous  soul; 
he  tried  to  reconcile  Sechard's  interests  with  Cointet's  schemes, 
and  he  tried  to  give  David  hints.  Eve,  in  their  troubles,  went 
to  old  S6chard ;  but  she  could  get  no  help.  Her  illusions  regard- 
ing Lucien  had  gone.    She  loved  her  husband  more  every  day. 

Kolb  and  Marion  came  forward  with  their  savings;  but 
procedure  had  begun.  David  and  his  wife,  by  this  time,  owed 
ten  thousand  francs!  A  letter  arrived  on  September  2d,  from 
Lucien  to  Eve,  announcing  the  death  of  Coralie,  the  beautiful 
actress  with  whom  he  had  been  living.  Old  Sechard,  who,  led 
on  by  Petit-Claud,  now  serving  Cointet's  interest  for  his  own 
advancement,  refused  all  aid,  even  to  keep  David  from  im- 
prisonment for  debts.  The  faithful  Kolb  discovered  Cerizet's 
treachery,  as  well  as  the  machinations  of  the  other  scoundrels, 
and  David's  real  position  became  faintly  clear.  "It  is  the 
Cointets'  doing!"  cried  poor  Eve,  aghast;  "they  are  proceeding 
against  you!  That  accounts  for  M^tisier's  hardness.  They 
are  paper-makers.     David!  they  want  your  secret!" 


148  LOST  ILLUSIONS 

Kolb  advised  hiding  David,  and  Eve  placed  him  in  a  little 
room  with  her  friend,  Basine  Clerget,  where  he  could  continue 
his  experiments.  Once  more  did  David,  accompanied  by 
Kolb,  try  to  gain  his  father's  aid,  but  to  no  purpose.  David 
now  sent  Eve  some  samples  of  paper.  Eve  showed  them  to 
old  Sechard,  and  he  hurried  with  them  to  the  Cointets.  If 
they  had  been  Jews  examining  diamonds,  their  eyes  could  not 
have  ghstened  more  eagerly  over  these  samples.  The  Coin- 
tets would  now  pay  David's  debts,  provided  he  would  take 
them  into  partnership.  "If  /  pay  David's  debts,"  thought  old 
Sechard,  "he  need  not  share  with  me!  He  knows  I  cheated 
him  on  the  first  partnership  and  will  not  try  a  second.  It  is 
my  interest  to  keep  him  locked  up!"  Ever^'body  involved 
thought  his  own  httle  afterthought.  "Experiments  must  be 
made  before  the  discovery  can  take  a  practical  shape,  and  David 
Sechard  at  liberty  will  slip  through  our  fingers,"  was  the  Coin- 
tets'; "As  soon  as  I  am  married,  I  will  slip  my  neck  out  of  the 
Cointets'  yoke;  but  till  then  I  must  hold  on,"  was  Petit-Claud's. 
Cointet  now  introduced  Petit-Claud  to  Madame  de  Senonches, 
who,  on  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  death,  had  removed  to  the 
Hotel  Bargeton,  where  she  was  reigning  as  queen  of  Angouleme 
society.  Petit-Claud  sued  for  the  hand  of  her  daughter,  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Haye,  and  was  greatly  disappointed  at  the  lat- 
ter's  plain  appearance.  He  agreed  to  the  terms,  however,  and 
promised  to  deliver  the  two  Sdchards  into  Cointet's  hands. 

Lucien,  after  writing  to  Eve,  decided  to  return  to  Angou- 
leme. A  market  van  conveyed  him  to  Longjumeau,  and  from 
there  he  had  to  tramp.  In  five  days  he  reached  Poitiers,  worn 
and  weary.  Seeing  a  traveling- carriage  climbing  up  the  hill 
at  night,  unnoticed  he  slipped  in  among  the  trunks.  The  car- 
riage stopped  in  the  morning  at  Mansle,  where  eighteen  months 
before  he  had  waited  for  Madame  de  Bargeton.  As  Lucien 
jumped  down,  the  two  travelers  alighted.  They  v;ere  the  new 
Prefect  of  the  Charente,  Sixte  du  Chatelet,  and  his  w  ife,  Louise 
de  Negrepelisse,  formerly  Madame  de  Bargeton !  Lucien  refused 
their  greetings  and  hurried  on,  with  a  distant  bow.  In  a  state 
of  exhaustion,  he  reached  the  Courtois'  mill,  between  Mansle 
and  Angouleme.  The  miller  fetched  the  doctor  and  the  cure 
for  the  supposed  dying  man;    but  Lucien  revived  and  begged 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  149 

for  news  of  his  family.  When  Lucien  heard  the  truth  his 
remorse  was  terrible.  The  cure  carried  the  news  of  Lucien  to 
his  sister.  Early  next  morning  Lucien  set  out  for  Angouleme. 
Eve  greeted  him  with  tears  and  his  grieved  mother  with  re- 
proaches and  forgiveness;  yet  neither  mother  nor  sister  could 
put  confidence  in  him — once  their  pride  and  hero.  Angou- 
leme grew  excited  at  the  poet's  return.  A  notice  appeared  in 
the  paper,  and  Lucien  was  invited  to  dine  with  the  Chatelets. 
Angouleme  also  serenaded  him.  At  a  reception  at  the  old 
Bargeton  house,  Lucien  met  Louise,  now  returned  a  Parisienne 
in  dress  and  manner.  Lucien  now  wrote  to  Lousteau  in  Paris 
for  some  clothes,  which  Lousteau  sent ;  and  Lucien  cut  a  dash 
in  Angouleme  society.  Finding  out  David's  hiding-place,  he 
wrote  to  him,  and  David  persisted  in  meeting  him  at  any  risk. 
The  generous  and  noble  inventor  met  the  selfish  poet,  who 
had  helped  ruin  him,  with  affection.  Lucien  managed  to  get 
Madame  du  Chatelet's  influence  to  have  David  pardoned  but 
it  was  too  late;  for  C^rizet,  who  saw  David  and  watched  his 
movements  the  night  he  met  Lucien,  intercepted  a  letter  from 
Lucien  to  David  and  forged  a  few  lines  appointing  a  meeting. 
David  fell  into  the  trap,  was  seized  and  carried  to  prison.  Lucien, 
the  unwilling  cause  of  David's  arrest,  then  sneaked  away  from 
home,  leaving  a  repentant  farewell  letter  for  Eve.  On  the  way 
to  Marsac  he  turned  out  of  the  road  to  avoid  the  coach  to  Paris, 
and  there  came  across  a  stranger  in  clerical  dress.  His  pohte- 
ness  was  extreme  and  he  spoke  with  a  Spanish  accent.  "He 
looked  at  Lucien  with  something  of  the  expression  of  a  hunter 
that  has  found  his  quarry  after  long  and  fruitless  search." 
He  invited  Lucien  to  take  a  seat  in  his  private  carriage;  but 
first  they  had  a  long  conversation  during  which  Lucien  re- 
lated his  hfe-history  to  the  Spanish  priest,  who  offered  him  a 
place  as  secretary.  He  told  him  he  was  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera,  Canon  of  Toledo,  secret  envoy  from  His  Majesty 
Ferdinand  VII  to  His  Majesty  the  King  of  France.  Lucien 
agreed  to  be  his  very  creature,  if  he  would  give  him  money 
enough  to  save  David.  The  Abbe,  drawing  forth  his  purse, 
brought  out  the  gold. 

Eve  was  in  distress,  with  Lucien  gone  and  David  imprisoned. 
Petit-Claud  escorted  her  to  her  husband's  cell,  and  the  lawyer 


I50  LOST  ILLUSIONS 

discovered  C€rizet's  forgery,  when  David  showed  him  the  letter 
that  had  caused  his  arrest.  Petit-Claud  turned  this  to  his  ad- 
vantage; and  got  control  of  Cerizet.  The  Cointets  had  an 
interview  with  David,  and  a  deed  of  partnership  was  drawn  up 
by  Petit-Claud.  David  had  to  purchase  his  release  heavily; 
but  the  terms  were  agreed  upon,  and,  as  soon  as  the  deed  was 
signed,  Eve,  to  her  surprise,  received  fifteen  thousand  francs 
from  Lucien,  with  a  letter,  saying  that  he  had  sold  his  life  to  a 
Spanish  diplomatist.  Cerizet  bought  the  old  business,  and 
Eve  and  David  purchased  a  httle  farm  near  Marsac,  where 
David  pursued  his  experiments  with  ardor  and  succeeded. 
The  Cointets  were  amassing  a  fortune  out  of  David's  paper, 
but  did  not  wish  him  to  share  in  the  profits.  They  raised 
trouble  about  some  clause  in  the  agreement;  and  Petit-Claud 
persuaded  them  to  sell  out.  Old  Sechard  died  in  1829,  leaving 
valuable  property  and  money  besides.  David  and  Eve,  with 
their  two  sons  and  a  daughter,  led  a  happy  hfe  in  their  country- 
home.  David  bade  farewell  to  glory  and  dabbled  in  ento- 
mology. His  discovery  was  assimilated  by  the  French  manu- 
facturing world  and  revolutionized  the  paper  industry.  The 
Cointets  made  a  fortune  and  the  elder  brother  became  a  peer. 
Petit-Claud  attained  great  success  as  a  lawyer,  and  "Brave 
Cerizet,"  as  he  was  nicknamed  by  the  Liberals,  got  into  political 
trouble  and  went  to  Paris. 


CESAR  BIROTTEAU  (1838) 

This  story  bears  in  the  original  the  title,  Histoire  de  la  grandeur  et  de  la 
decadence  de  Cesar  Birotteau  ("History  of  the  greatness  and  of  the  fall  of 
Cesar  Birotteau").  It  appeared  first  in  two  volumes  and  was  divided  into 
three  parts,  since  reduced  to  two,  and  into  sixteen  chapters,  which  were  after- 
ward suppressed.  In  this  form  it  was  used  as  a  premium  by  the  Figaro  and 
the  Estajetie.  Another  edition  was  published  in  1839,  and  in  1844  the  novel 
was  placed  among  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Parisienne  of  the  Comedy,  although  it 
had  at  first  been  intended  for  the  Etudes  Philosophiques.  Many  of  its  numerous 
characters  are  found  elsewhere,  and  the  herohimself  is  mentioned  in  Un  Menage 
de  Gargon  and  La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-pelote. 

ESAR  BIROTTEAU,  son  of  Jacques  Birotteau, 
a  peasant  of  the  environs  of  Chinon,  and  of  the 
chambermaid  of  a  lady  whose  vines  he  tended, 
went  on  foot  to  Paris,  when  fourteen  years  old, 
to  seek  his  fortune.  He  could  read,  write,  and 
cipher,  and  he  soon  obtained  a  place  as  shop-boy 
with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Ragon,  perfumers, 
where  he  received  his  board  and  lodging  and  six 
francs  a  month.  He  slept  on  a  miserable  pallet 
in  the  garret,  the  clerks  made  fun  of  him,  and  his  master  and 
mistress  spoke  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  dog.  But  he  devoted  him- 
self so  assiduously  to  the  business,  learning  the  goods  and  their 
marks  and  prices,  that  when  the  terrible  conscription  of  the 
Year  II  cleared  Citizen  Ragon's  house  of  assistants,  Cesar  was 
promoted  to  the  place  of  second  clerk  with  fifty  francs  a  month, 
and  a  seat  at  the  table  of  the  Ragons. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year  he  was  made  cashier,  on  ac- 
count of  his  integrity,  and  Madame  Ragon  and  her  husband 
gradually  became  intimate  with  him.  In  1 794  C6sar  had  saved 
two  thousand  francs  in  gold ;  he  exchanged  them  for  six  thousand 
francs  in  paper,  purchased  state  stocks  at  thirty  francs  in  the 
hundred,  and  locked  up  his  certificate  with  indescribable  hap- 
piness. Influenced  by  the  Ragons,  he  became  a  devoted 
Royalist  and  a  hater  of  the  Revolution  that  drove  hair-powder 

151 


152  CESAR  BIROTTEAU 

out  of  fashion.  When  M.  Ragon  saw  that  he  was  favorably 
disposed,  he  appointed  him  first  clerk  and  initiated  him  into 
the  secrets  of  the  Queen  of  Roses,  some  of  whose  customers 
were  the  most  active  and  devoted  emissaries  of  the  Bourbons. 
With  the  warmth  of  youth,  Cesar  threw  himself  into  the  con- 
spiracy of  the  Royalists  and  terrorists  on  the  13th  Vendemiaire, 
and  had  the  honor  of  contending  against  Napoleon  on  the  steps 
of  Saint-Roch.  Wounded  at  the  outset  of  the  affair,  he  was 
borne  away  by  his  friends  and  concealed  in  the  garret  of  the 
Queen  of  Roses,  where  his  wounds  were  dressed  by  Madame 
Ragon  and  he  luckily  was  forgotten. 

On  the  1 8th  Brumaire,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Ragon,  de- 
spairing of  the  royal  cause,  decided  to  retire  from  business,  and 
proposed  to  sell  to  Birotteau.  Cesar,  who  at  twenty  years  of 
age  possessed  an  income  of  a  thousand  francs  from  the  public 
funds,  hesitated.  His  fancy  was  to  retire  to  Chinon  when  he 
had  secured  an  income  of  fifteen  hundred  francs,  to  marry  a 
woman  as  rich  as  himself  in  Touraine,  in  order  to  be  able  to 
purchase  and  cultivate  the  Tresorieres,  a  small  estate  from 
which  he  could  easily  derive  an  income  of  three  thousand  francs. 
He  was  about  to  refuse,  when  the  sight  of  a  young  woman 
standing  at  the  door  of  a  shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Quai  d'Anjou 
caused  him  to  change  his  mind.  Constance  Pillcrault  was  the 
head  shop-girl  at  the  Sailor  Boy,  a  fancy  store  which  displayed 
a  large  variety  of  goods  at  low  prices.  Constance  was  a  noted 
beauty  and  was  in  daily  receipt  of  brilliant  proposals,  in  which, 
however,  the  subject  of  marriage  was  never  mentioned;  but 
finally,  on  the  advice  of  her  uncle  and  guardian.  Monsieur 
Claude- Joseph  Pillerault,  an  ironmonger  on  the  Quai  de  la 
Ferraille,  she  consented  to  marry  Cesar  Birotteau.  She  was 
then  eighteen  years  old,  and  possessed  eleven  thousand  francs. 
Cesar,  whose  love  had  inspired  him  with  ambition,  purchased 
the  stock  of  the  Queen  of  Roses,  and  removed  it  to  a  beautiful 
building  near  the  Place  Vendome.  By  the  advice  of  Roguin, 
the  notary  of  the  Ragons,  who  drew  up  the  marriage  contract, 
he  did  not  use  the  dowry  of  his  wife  in  the  purchase,  but  kept 
it  as  the  means  wherewith  to  engage  in  promising  speculations. 

Birotteau  regarded  the  notary  with  admiration,  contracted 
the  habit  of  consulting  him,  and  made  him  his  friend.    Madame 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  153 

Cesar  produced  a  marvelous  effeci  behind  the  counter,  and  her 
famous  beauty  brought  large  sales.  The  "beautiful  Madame 
Birotteau"  was  all  the  rage  among  the  elegants  of  the  Empire. 
But  at  the  end  of  the  year  the  ambitious  Cesar  calculated  that 
it  would  take  twenty  years  to  net  a  hundred  thousand  francs, 
at  which  figure  he  had  fixed  the  limits  of  his  fortune.  Through 
the  aid  of  the  celebrated  chemist  Vauquelin,  he  invented  a 
cosmetic  which  he  called  "Concentrated  Sultana  Paste,"  and 
a  water  for  the  complexion,  styled  "Carminative  Water." 
These  brought  in  the  aggregate  enormous  profits,  which  enabled 
him  to  build  factories  in  the  Faubourg  du  Temple,  and  to  deco- 
rate magnificently  the  Queen  of  Roses.  In  1810  he  was  elected 
Judge  of  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce.  He  was  considered  very 
rich,  and  the  regularity  of  his  affairs  and  his  habit  of  owing 
nothing  gave  him  high  credit.  He  had  one  daughter,  Cesarine, 
idolized  by  both  Constance  and  himself,  on  whose  education 
he  lavished  money  without  stint. 

In  1 814  Birotteau  took  into  his  house  as  first  clerk  a  young 
man  of  twenty-two,  named  Ferdinand  du  Tillet.  He  was  a 
foundling,  the  child  of  a  poor  girl  of  Tillet,  a  small  place  near 
the  Andelys,  who  had  drowned  herself  after  the  birth  of  her 
infant  in  the  garden  of  the  curate.  He  had  led  a  roving  life  in 
a  world  in  which  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  succeed  at  any 
price.  Birotteau  learned  with  astonishment  that  his  clerk 
went  out  at  night  elegantly  dressed,  returned  home  very  late, 
and  attended  balls  at  the  houses  of  bankers  and  notaries.  His 
habits  displeased  Cesar,  and  finally,  by  the  advice  of  his  wife, 
whom  Du  Tillet  had  tried  to  seduce,  his  dismissal  was  resolved 
upon. 

Three  days  before  parting  with  him,  Birotteau,  in  making 
up  his  monthly  account  one  Saturday  evening,  discovered  a 
deficit  of  three  thousand  francs.  His  consternation  was  great, 
but  whom  should  he  accuse?  The  cashier  was  a  nephew  of 
Madame  Ragon,  named  Popinot,  a  young  man  of  nineteen  who 
lived  with  them  and  was  integrity  itself.  On  the  next  Sunday, 
while  the  Birotteaus  were  entertaining  friends  at  cards.  Monsieur 
Roguin  put  down  on  the  table  several  antique  gold  pieces  that 
Madame  Birotteau  recognized  as  some  she  had  taken  in  the 
shop.     Roguin  said  he  had  won  them  at  a  banker's  house  of 


154  CESAR   BIROTTEAU 

Du  Tillet,  who  confirmed  the  notary's  story  without  a  blush. 
That  night  Du  Tillet  acknowledged  the  theft,  and  Cesar  par- 
doned him;  but  two  weeks  later  Du  Tillet  entered  the  service 
of  a  broker,  to  study  banking,  he  said. 

Some  months  afterward  Du  Tillet  came  to  C^sar  to  ask  him 
to  become  security  for  him  in  a  certain  business  transaction. 
The  perfumer,  surprised  at  his  effrontery,  blushed  red  as  he 
complied  with  his  request,  and  gave  him  a  searching  look  that 
caused  the  fellow  to  vow  relentless  hatred  to  him. 

The  Restoration  made  an  important  personage  of  Cesar, 
whose  zeal  in  the  royal  cause  was  not  forgotten,  and  when  the 
municipal  body  of  Paris  was  remodeled  the  prefect  wanted 
him  appointed  mayor.  Thanks  to  his  wife,  he  accepted  the 
post  of  deputy,  which  rendered  him  less  conspicuous  and  pro- 
cured him  the  friendship  of  the  Mayor,  Monsieur  de  la  Billard- 
iere.  It  also  won  him  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  Cesar, 
now  forty  years  old,  began  to  have  elevated  ideas.  He  had 
succeeded  in  everything  he  had  undertaken,  and  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  abandon  the  shop  and  ascend  to  the  regions  of  the 
upper  bourgeoisie  of  Paris. 

With  this  end  in  view,  he  embarked,  contrary  to  the  advice 
of  his  wife  and  in  disregard  of  her  warnings,  in  a  large  specu- 
lation in  lands  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Madeleine,  which  he 
declared  were  sure  to  quadruple  in  value  in  three  or  four  years. 
In  this  scheme,  planned  by  Roguin,  the  notary,  Birotteau  was 
expected  to  subscribe  three  hundred  thousand  francs  and 
represent  three  eighths  of  the  capital. 

"You  shall  never  do  it,  Cesar,  while  I  am  alive!"  exclaimed 
his  wife.  "We  shall  soon  have  nothing  left  but  our  eyes  to 
weep  with." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand.  Chance  offers  me  a  career  of 
splendor,  and  I  accept  the  offer." 

Anselme  Popinot,  Birotteau's  cashier,  was  in  love  with 
Cesarine.  Though  he  was  small,  red-haired,  and  afflicted  with 
a  clubfoot,  he  was  capable  and  honest,  and  Birotteau  had 
selected  him  to  aid  him  in  his  schemes.  He  had  invented  a 
new  oil  for  the  hair,  made  of  nut  oil,  and  opened  a  new  estab- 
lishment for  its  sale  in  the  Rue  des  Cinq  Diamants,  under  the 
name  of  A.  Popinot  and  Company. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  155 

To  celebrate  properly  his  decoration  with  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  Birotteau  determined  to  give  a  grand  ball.  As  this 
necessitated  some  changes  in  his  house,  he  employed  an  archi- 
tect and  gave  him  carte  blanche  in  respect  to  alterations,  addi- 
tions, and  decorations.  The  magnificence  of  the  projected 
entertainment  was  celebrated  in  the  newspapers  and  com- 
mented on  in  business  circles,  where  the  perfumer  was  cen- 
sured for  his  ambition  and  laughed  at  for  his  political  pre- 
tensions. 

Constance,  though  trembling  when  she  thought  of  the  ex- 
pense, was  so  delighted  when  she  saw  the  result  of  the  architect's 
work  that  she  fell  on  her  husband's  neck  and  shed  tears  of 
happiness,  saying,  "Ah,  C^sar,  you  make  me  very  wild  and 
very  happy." 

"So  you  appreciate  me  at  last,"  said  the  perfumer. 

The  ball  was  a  great  success,  being  attended  by  many 
government  functionaries  and  even  by  several  of  the  nobility. 
Birotteau,  thoroughly  intoxicated  by  the  shower  of  felicitations, 
took  all  compliments  in  earnest,  and  saw  no  sarcasm  in  the 
remarks  of  any  of  his  guests. 

"You  have  given  a  national  festivity  which  docs  you  honor," 
said  Camusot. 

"I  have  rarely  seen  so  fine  a  ball,"  said  M.  de  la  Billardiere. 

"What  an  enchanting  spectacle!  Are  you  going  to  give 
balls  often?"  asked  Madame  Lebas. 

The  ball  at  last  came  to  an  end,  and  the  weary  but  happy 
Birotteaus  went  to  sleep  at  daylight  to  dream  of  the  grand 
entertainment  which  had  cost  Cesar,  though  he  was  far  from 
suspecting  it,  hard  upon  sixty  thousand  francs.  Such  was  the 
issue  of  the  fatal  red  ribbon  fastened  by  a  king  to  a  perfumer's 
buttonhole. 

A  week  after  the  ball  the  bills  began  to  come  in.  Birotteau, 
who  had  completely  drained  himself  of  ready  money  in  the 
Madeleine  speculation,  ordered  his  cashier  to  write  out  notes, 
payable  three  months  from  date.  While  the  larger  creditors 
were  paid  by  notes,  small  creditors,  who  expected  cash,  were 
put  off  two  or  three  times.  A  neighbor,  for  whom  he  had  dis- 
counted notes  for  five  thousand  francs,  failed,  and  the  notes 
proved  worthless.     In  trade  such  matters  are  whispered  about 


156  CESAR   BIROTTEAU 

and  are  more  injurious  than  a  disaster.  Birotteau's  till  was 
empty.  He  was  frightened;  such  a  thing  had  never  happened 
in  all  his  business  experience.  He  was  afraid  of  his  wife,  and 
to  conceal  from  her  his  dejection  at  this  simoom  of  calamities, 
he  went  out  for  a  walk.  But  he  met  the  architect,  who  held  one 
of  his  notes. 

"I  can't  get  this  paper  of  yours  cashed,"  he  said,  "though 
I've  tried  high  and  low;  so  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  change  it 
for  specie.  I  don't  hke  to  peddle  your  signature  about,  as  it 
must  degrade  it;  so  that  it  is  in  your  interest  to " 

"Sir,"  said  Birotteau,  stupefied,  "not  so  loud,  if  you  please, 
you  surprise  me  strangely." 

Presently  he  met  another  creditor,  who  insisted  on  the  im- 
mediate payment  of  his  account. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  said  Birotteau  to  himself.  "There's 
something  underneath  all  this.     That  cursed  ball!" 

In  the  Rue  Saint-Honore  he  fell  in  with  Alexander  Crottat, 
who  expected  to  succeed  Roguin  as  a  notary. 

"Ah,  sir,  one  question.  Did  Roguin  hand  your  four  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  to  Monsieur  Claparon,  his  business 
agent?" 

"Why  do  you  ask,  for  mercy's  sake?" 

"Why  do  I  ask?  Because  Roguin  has  made  off  with  them 
and  with  Claparon's  money,  as  well  as  the  hundred  thousand 
francs  I  paid  him  for  the  good  will  of  his  office,  for  which  I  took 
no  receipt.  The  owners  of  your  lots  have  not  received  a  single 
sou  on  them.  Madame  Roguin's  life  is  despaired  of;  Du 
Tillet  watched  with  her  during  the  night.  Roguin  has  been 
using  his  clients'  deposits  for  five  years — and  for  whom,  think 
you?  For  a  woman,  la  belle  Hollandaise!  The  vicious  old 
blackguard!  He  advised  me  three  weeks  ago  not  to  marry 
your  Cdsarine,  for  you  would  soon  be  without  bread  to  your 
mouths,  the  monster!" 

Birotteau  stood  motionless,  petrified.  Every  sentence  was 
a  blow  from  a  sledge-hammer.  Crottat,  alarmed  at  his  pallor, 
gave  his  arm  to  Cesar,  and  tried  to  make  him  walk,  but  his  legs 
gave  way  as  if  he  had  been  intoxicated.  Alexander  got  him 
into  a  carriage  and  took  him  home. 

"I  thought  it  would  be  so,"  said  his  wife,  who  had  no  sus- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  157 

picion  of  the  calamity,  "he's  been  working  for  two  months  like 
a  galley-slave,  as  if  he  still  had  his  bread  to  earn." 

C&ar  was  put  to  bed  at  once,  and  for  three  terrible  days 
his  reason  was  in  danger,  but  his  peasant  constitution  came  off 
victorious  and  he  got  on  his  feet  again.  As  soon  as  he  was 
himself  once  more,  he  set  about  making  reparation.  "I  have 
been  dreaming  for  twenty-two  years,"  he  said,  "and  I  wake 
again  to-day  with  my  staff  in  my  hand." 

He  handed  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  to  his  confessor, 
Abb^  Loroax,  saying,  "You  will  return  it  to  me  when  I  can 
WTar  it  without  shame."  He  also  sent  in  his  resignation  as 
deputy-mayor.  "May  God  take  pity  on  mc!"  he  said,  as  he 
signed  his  balance  sheet. 

While  he  was  in  the  depths  of  despair,  Anselme  Popinot, 
who  had  always  been  true  to  Cesarine,  asked  for  her  hand. 
This  request  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all  except  Cesar,  who 
arose,  took  Anselme's  hand  and  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  "My 
son,  you  shall  never  marry  the  daughter  of  a  bankrupt." 

"Will  you  promise,  sir,"  said  Anselme,  "in  the  presence  of 
your  family,  to  consent  to  our  marriage,  if  Mademoiselle  accepts 
me  for  her  husband,  on  the  day  when  your  failure  shall  be 
redeemed?"  Cesarine  held  out  her  hand  to  Anselme,  who 
kissed  it.     "Do  you  consent,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

"At  last  I  belong  to  the  family,  and  have  a  right  to  take  an 
interest  in  its  affairs,"  he  said,  as  he  rushed  out  precipitately. 

As  soon  as  Birotteau  had  turned  over  everything  to  his 
creditors,  Madame  Cesar  obtained  for  him,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt,  a  clerkship  in  the  office  of  the 
Sinking  Fund,  worth  twenty-five  hundred  francs  a  year.  A 
week  later  Cesarine  was  established  in  the  richest  fancy-goods 
house  in  Paris,  where  she  received  board  and  lodging  and  three 
thousand  francs  salary,  and  Madame  Cesar  went  to  Popinot's 
establishment  to  keep  his  books  and  accounts,  for  which  she 
received  also  a  salary  of  three  thousand  francs. 

Birotteau's  liabilities  amounted  to  four  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  francs,  while  his  assets  were  two  hundred  and  forty- 
five  thousand  francs.  As  he  thus  paid  his  creditors  more  than 
fifty  per  cent.,  his  failure  was  not  disgraceful,  as  Du  Tillet  had 


158  CESAR   BIROTTEAU 

hoped  it  would  be.  Every  creditor,  except  his  former  clerk, 
sincerely  pitied  him  when  they  saw  how  regular  his  books  were 
and  how  straightforward  his  business  career  had  been.  At 
the  final  meeting  of  his  creditors,  it  was  unanimously  agreed 
to  remit  the  remainder  of  their  claims,  and  Birotteau  was  dis- 
charged by  the  court  a  free  man.  He  pressed  the  Judge's 
hands  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  announced  that  he  should 
work  until  he  had  paid  his  creditors  in  full. 

Eighteen  months  after  the  failure,  Birotteau  was  enabled, 
through  his  own  savings  and  those  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
with  some  aid  from  Uncle  Pillerault,  to  pay  his  creditors  fifty 
thousand  francs.  In  1822  Du  Tillet,  who  had  bought  in 
Birotteau's  claims  in  the  Madeleine  lands,  which  were  fast  in- 
creasing in  value,  came  to  Popinot  to  endeavor  to  buy  a  lease 
of  the  land  on  which  the  latter  had  built  a  factory.  A  canal  was 
projected  there,  and  Du  Tillet  knew  that  he  could  get  a  large 
sum  for  the  property  if  he  could  buy  this  lease,  which  had  fifteen 
years  to  run.  Popinot  was  ignorant  of  Du  Tillet's  theft  when 
a  clerk,  but  he  was  indignant  at  seeing  him  grow  rich  out 
of  the  spoils  of  his  old  employer ;  so  when  Du  Tillet  explained 
the  object  of  his  visit,  he  said,  "I  want  sixty  thousand  francs 
for  it,  and  I  won't  take  the  fourth  part  of  a  sou  less." 

The  discussion  over  this  had  waxed  warm,  when  Madame 
Cesar  came  in  and  saw  Du  Tillet  for  the  first  time  since  the 
ball. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  Popinot,  "is  to  get  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  for  your  land,  and  refuses  us  sixty  thousand 
francs  bonus  for  our  lease." 

"But  think,"  said  Du  Tillet,  with  emphasis,  "that  makes 
three  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Three  thousand  francs!"  repeated  Madame  Cesar,  simply 
but  pointedly. 

Du  Tillet  turned  pale,  and  after  a  moment  of  profound 
silence,  said,  "  Sign  this  surrender  of  the  lease,  and  I  will  give 
you  a  check  for  sixty  thousand  francs." 

Popinot  looked  at  Madame  Cesar  in  amazement,  but  com- 
plied, and  received  Du  Tillet's  check  for  the  amount.  As 
soon  as  the  banker  was  gone,  he  hastened  after  Madame 
Cesar,  who  had  left  the  apartment,  and  asked,  "What  power 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  159 

is  this  you  have  over  Du  Tillet,  to  make  him  conclude  such  an 
operation?" 

"Oh,  let  us  not  speak  of  that!"  she  said. 

"This  sixty  thousand  francs,"  continued  Popinot,  "added  to 
half  the  profits  of  our  present  business — for  I  have  always  con- 
sidered Monsieur  Birotteau  as  my  partner — gives  us  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-three  thousand  francs.  To  this  I  shall  add 
such  sums  as  may  be  necessary  to  make  up  the  amount  that  is 
due.     Thus,  your  husband — will  be — rehabihtated." 

"Rehabilitated!"  cried  Madame  Cesar.  "Dear  Anselme! 
my  dear  boy!  Cesarine  is  yours  in  good  earnest."  She  took 
his  head  in  her  hands  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead.  "Lis- 
ten," she  continued,  "I  will  tell  you  all.  Du  Tillet  sought  to 
ruin  mc,  my  husband  was  at  once  informed  of  it,  and  Du  Tillet 
was  to  be  discharged.  That  very  day  he  stole  three  thousand 
francs." 

"I  suspected  it,"  said  Popinot. 

"Anselme,  your  happiness  requires  this  avowal;  but  let  it 
die  in  your  heart,  as  it  is  already  dead  in  mine  and  Cesar's. 
To  avoid  a  lawsuit  and  to  spare  the  man,  Cesar  put  three 
thousand  francs  into  the  till  to  make  good  the  amount — the 
cost  of  the  cashmere  shawl  I  had  to  wait  three  years  for." 

"Now,  I  have  a  httle  secret,"  said  Popinot.  "When  your 
stock  in  the  Queen  of  Roses  was  sold,  I  saddled  it  with  a  con- 
dition. Your  rooms  there  are  precisely  as  you  left  them.  I 
kept  the  second  story  for  myself,  and  I  shall  live  there  with 
Cesarine,  who  will  thus  never  leave  you.  In  order  to  restore 
you  your  fortune,  I  will  buy  out  Monsieur  Cesar's  interest  for 
one  hundred  thousand  francs,  so  that  you  will  have,  with  his 
clerkship,  ten  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Say  no  more,  Anselme,  or  I  shall  lose  my  senses." 

This  was  a  joyful  day  for  Cesar.  The  King's  private 
secretary,  the  Viscount  de  Vandenesse,  came  to  see  him  and 
said: 

"Monsieur  Birotteau,  your  efforts  to  pay  your  creditors 
have  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  King.  His  Majesty,  touched 
by  an  act  so  rare,  and  knowing  that,  from  humility,  you  do  not 
wear  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  has  sent  me  to  request 
you  to  resume  the  emblem.     He  has  also  commissioned  me  to 


i6o  CESAR    BIROTTEAU 

hand  you  this  sum  of  six  thousand  francs  from  his  privy  purse, 
regretting  that  he  cannot  do  more.  Let  this  remain  a  profound 
secret." 

On  the  day  of  his  rehabihtation,  C^sar  went  to  the  court 
surrounded  by  friends.  He  hstened  to  the  discourse  of  the 
Attorney-General,  who,  in  reciting  the  history  of  his  case,  took 
the  occasion  to  pay  him  the  highest  comphments;  and  he  was 
nearly  overcome  when  the  solemn  decree  of  the  court  was  pro- 
nounced by  the  First  President.  Uncle  Pillerault  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  led  him  from  the  hall,  while  Cesar  mechanically 
attached  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  to  his  buttonhole, 
as  he  was  carried  in  triumph  to  his  carriage. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me,  my  friends?"  he  asked. 

"To  your  own  house." 

"No,  I  wish  to  go  to  the  Exchange,  and  profit  by  my  right." 

"Drive  to  the  Exchange,"  said  Pillerault,  who  observed 
with  anxiety  certain  threatening  symptoms,  and  feared  C€sar 
might  go  mad. 

At  the  Exchange,  whose  threshold  no  bankrupt  can  cross, 
Birotteau  was  received  with  the  most  flattering  attentions,  even 
Du  Tillet  coming  to  congratulate  him.  After  this  triumph, 
Cdsar  set  out  to  return  to  his  house,  where  the  marriage  con- 
tract between  Cesarine  and  Popinot  was  to  be  signed.  Popinot 
had  prepared  for  him  a  surprise  and,  with  the  connivance  of 
Constance  and  C&arine,  had  sent  out  invitations  for  a  ball  to 
commemorate  the  signing  of  the  contract.  Everything  in  the 
rooms  in  the  Rue  Saint-Honord  was  precisely  as  C^sar  had  left 
them,  and  when  he  was  taken  there,  and  saw  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  his  wife,  in  the  cherry-colored  gown  she  had  worn  at 
the  previous  ball,  with  Cesarine,  the  Count  de  Fontaine,  the 
Viscount  de  Vandenesse,  the  illustrious  Vauquelin,  and  others, 
to  welcome  him,  a  veil  seemed  spread  before  his  eyes,  and  his 
Uncle  Pillerault,  who  supported  him  on  his  arm,  felt  a  slight 
shudder. 

Cesar  took  his  wife's  arm  and  whispered  in  a  choking 
voice,  "I  am  not  well." 

Constance,  alarmed,  led  him  to  his  chamber,  where  he 
dropped  into  his  armchair,  saying,  "Monsieur  Loraux!" 

The  Ahb6  came,  followed  by  many  of  the  guests,  who  formed 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  i6i 

a  terrified  group.  C^sar  pressed  the  hand  of  his  confessor  and 
bowed  his  head  upon  the  bosom  of  his  kneeling  wife.  A 
blood-vessel  had  burst  in  his  chest,  and  an  aneurism  stifled  his 
last  breath. 

"Behold  the  death  of  the  just,"  said  the  Abb^  in  a  deep 
voice. 


A.D.,  VOL.  n. — II 


BEATRIX  (1839) 

In  this  novel  Balzac  presents  thinly  disguised  character  studies  of  certain 
of  his  famous  contemporaries.  Beatrix  is  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult  (1805-1876), 
an  author  who  wrote  under  the  pen-name  of  "Daniel  Stern,"  and  who  lived 
ten  years  (from  1835  to  1845)  with  Franz  Liszt,  the  Hungarian  pianist  and 
composer  (1811-1886).  To  them  were  born  three  daughters,  one  of  whom  married 
Von  Billow,  and  afterward  Richard  Wagner.  Liszt  is  represented  in  the  novel 
as  Conti.  The  rival  of  Beatrix,  Camille  Maupin,  or  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
is  a  composite  study  of  two  characters  in  real  life:  the  Baroness  Dudevant  (1804- 
1876),  the  famous  novelist  known  by  her  pseudonym  of  "George  Sand";  and 
Madame  de  Stacl  (1766-1817).  It  is  said  that  Madame  Dudevant  was  immense- 
ly pleased  with  the  story  because  it  represented  her  in  favorable  contrast  to  her 
"friend"  and  fellow-author,  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult.  The  lover  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  Claude  Vignon,  stands  for  the  critic  Gustave  Blanche,  although 
it  was  with  Alfred  de  Musset  (1810-1857),  the  poet,  and  Frederic  Franfois  Chopin 
(1809-1849),  the  musician,  that  the  Baroness  Dudevant  had  her  most  noted 
liaisons. 

^ARON  DU  GUENIC,  of  Guerande,  was  a  true 
Breton.  When  La  Vendee  arose  against  the 
French  Repubhc,  he  joined  with  the  Royahsts  in 
their  guerrilla  warfare,  and  when  the  insurrection 
was  put  down,  in  1802,  he  sailed  for  Ireland 
rather  than  accept  the  clemency  of  Napoleon. 

Here,  in  1813,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  he  married 
Miss  Fanny  O'Brien,  a  young  lady  of  ancient 
family,  dowered  with  beauty,  amiability,  and  good 
sense  in  lieu  of  fortune.  In  1814,  on  the  restoration  of  the  Bour- 
bons to  the  French  throne  in  the  person  of  Louis  XVIII,  the 
Guenics  returned  to  their  Breton  home,  bringing  their  new- 
born son,  Calyste  (Cahxtus)  by  name. 

No  other  children  were  born  to  the  couple,  and  Calyste  was 
the  idol  of  the  household.  By  the  time  the  son  had  arrived  at 
the  age  of  manhood,  though  not  its  appearance — having  in- 
herited from  his  Irish  mother  soft,  fair  hair,  a  rosebud  mouth, 
dehcate  complexion,  and  finely  molded  features,  though  de- 
riving from  his  father  a  swordlike  strength  and  elasticity  of 
nerve  and  muscle — the  Baron  du  Gudnic  was  a  broken  old 
man  whose  sole  reason  for  clinging  to  life  was  that  he  might 

162 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  163 

see  his  son  married  and  the  father  of  a  boy  that  would  preserve 
the  family  from  extinction.  "I  do  not  want  to  go  out  of  this 
world,"  he  said,  "without  seeing  my  grandson,  a  httle  pink-and- 
white  Guenic,  with  a  Breton  hood  on  in  his  cradle." 

Accordingly,  in  the  year  1836,  when  Calyste  was  twenty-two, 
a  council  of  all  the  Du  Guenic  clan  was  held,  at  which  a  wife 
■  for  the  young  man  was  decided  upon  in  the  person  of  Charlotte 
de  Kergarouet,  a  young  girl  of  a  family  of  prominence  in  the 
neighboring  city  of  Nantes.  Calyste  hotly  rebelled  when  in- 
formed of  the  disposition  made  of  his  future  by  the  family 
council.  "I!  marry  at  my  age?"  he  cried  to  the  Baroness  de 
Guenic  with  one  of  those  looks  which  weaken  a  mother's  reso- 
lution. "Am  I  to  have  no  period  of  sweet  love-madness?  May 
I  never  know  the  beauty  that  is  free,  the  fancy  of  the  soul,  the 
despair  of  attainment,  the  thrill  of  conquest?  Shall  I  never 
climb  to  my  beloved's  chamber  by  a  rotten  trellis,  without  know- 
ing or  caring  that  it  is  breaking  behind  me  at  every  upward 
step?  Can  I  know  nothing  of  woman  but  wifely  surrender, 
or  of  the  light  of  love  but  the  chastened  glow  of  the  marriage- 
lamp?  Is  all  my  curiosity  to  be  satiated  before  it  is  excited? 
Am  I  to  live  without  ever  feeling  that  fury  of  the  heart  which 
adds  to  a  man's  power?  Do  you  not  perceive  that  by  following 
the  stupid  custom  of  the  country  you  have  fed  the  fire  that  is 
consuming  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  burned  up  before  that  divinity 
reveals  herself  to  me  in  flesh  and  blood  whose  presaging  image 
I  see  wherever  I  turn — in  the  green-scarfed  limbs  of  the  waving 
forest,  the  white  breasts  of  the  foaming  surge,  the  soft  radiance 
of  moonlight  glinting  from  the  darkling  lake?  Shall  I  never 
pluck  the  blue  blossom  of  romance?  Mother,  but  one  such 
flower  of  womankind  blooms  in  all  Guerande,  and  that  is  you. 
It  must  be  in  Paris,  in  the  conservatories  of  Paris,  that  my 
heart-ease  is  to  be  found.  It  was  from  Paris  she  came,  that 
glorious  creature  I  saw  on  the  moors  amid  the  yellow  broom, 
whose  beauty  sent  the  blood  with  a  rush  to  the  heart!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy!"  said  the  melting  mother,  pressing  his 
head  to  her  bosom  and  kissing  his  fair  hair,  still  all  her  own, 
"marry  when  you  please,  only  be  happy.  It  is  not  my  part 
to  torment  you.  Only — tell  your  mother  about  this  woman 
you  met  on  the  moors." 


i64  BEATRIX 

It  was  indeed  a  glorious  creature  that  Calyste  had  beheld 
amid  the  golden  broom.  Fdlicit^  des  Touches  was  one  of  the 
score  of  women  who,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  have  achieved 
greatness  measured  by  the  standards  applied  to  the  greatest  of 
men.  Demanding  such  a  judgment,  as  it  were,  she  early  as- 
sumed a  masculine  appellation — Camille  Maupin — and  speedily 
made  it  shine  among  the  foremost  names  in  contemporary 
literature. 

Occupied  with  her  labors  and  studies.  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  had  passed  the  age  when  girls  of  her  class  usually, 
if  ever,  marry.  She  was  now  forty,  with  the  same  beauty  of 
form  and  face  that  she  possessed  at  twenty-five,  and  more  mag- 
netic than  ever  in  her  attractiveness,  owing  to  her  ever-increas- 
ing insight  into  the  minds  and  soul  of  her  associates,  and  her 
ever-broadening  sympathy  with  human  passions  and  impulses, 
however  weak  and  wayward  these  might  seem  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world. 

Disliking  to  think  that  she  might  be  abnormal  in  regard  to 
her  feelings  toward  the  other  sex.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
when  she  had  passed  the  age  of  impressionable  girlhood, 
sought  a  lover  among  men  of  genius  in  her  own  circle.  She 
first  selected  an  author,  who  was  deeply  versed  in  art,  a  subject 
in  which  she  felt  herself  deficient,  and  who  seemed  to  share 
in  her  desire  for  ennobling  companionship.  Together  they 
went  to  Italy,  where,  after  revealing  to  her  the  souls  of  the  Old 
Masters,  he  finally  laid  bare  his  own — suddenly  deserting  her 
for  an  Itahan  woman  of  purely  sensual  charms.  But  for  this 
humihation  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  might  never  have  be- 
come famous.  It  gave  her  at  once  and  forever  that  scorn  of 
mankind  which  was  her  great  strength.  The  old  Felicite  was 
dead  and  "Camille  Maupin"  was  bom. 

She  returned  to  Paris  in  the  company  of  Conti,  the  great 
musician,  for  whom  she  wrote  the  libretti  of  two  operas.  Upon 
the  author  who  had  deserted  her  she  revenged  herself  by  writing 
a  delicious  comedy  on  the  subject  of  their  Platonic  relations. 

Conti  she  found  going  the  way  of  her  first  lover,  and  so 
broke  with  him  in  time — even  before  he  realized  whither  he  was 
drifting.  At  the  time  when  this  story  opens  she  had  become 
interested  in  Claude  Vignon,  a  lazy,  impoverished  bohemian. 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  165 

who  nevertheless  was  receiving  from  more  successful  men  the 
sincere  homage  of  fear  and  hatred  because  of  his  mordant 
criticism.  Fdlicit^  chose  him,  evidently,  in  order  to  maintain 
and  advance  her  position  in  the  literary  world.  To  escape 
criticism  for  this  behavior,  so  rash  and  incomprehensible  as  it 
seemed  to  her  friends,  she  carried  him  off  to  her  "Chartreuse" 
in  Brittany. 

But  in  this  beautiful  chateau,  filled  though  it  was  with  the 
treasures  of  art  and  literature  purchased  with  the  rich  gains  of 
his  mistress's  pen,  Vignon,  a  true  cockney,  soon  became  bored, 
and  grew  homesick  for  his  beloved  Paris.  Here  in  Brittany 
was  no  artist  to  be  plucked,  no  poet  to  be  driven  to  despair. 
The  varied  scenery  of  the  surrounding  country  pleased  him 
even  less  than  the  chateau.  So  he  moped  within  doors  while 
Camille  tramped  the  moors  and  the  sand-dunes,  planning  how 
she  might  mold  him  to  her  purposes. 

On  one  of  these  excursions  she  came  upon  Calyste  lying  on 
his  back  in  the  heather,  observing  in  the  clouds  the  symbols  of 
his  ideal  woman.  To  Camille  his  fair  flushed  face  and  lithe 
form,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  seemed  the  impersonation  of  a 
faun,  one  of  the  ever-young  and  beautiful  creatures  of  classic 
myth.  All  the  immortal  in  her  leaped  forth  responsive,  and  to 
him  her  five  feet  of  stature  towered  to  regal  proportions,  and 
her  dark  face  became  radiant  with  inner  light. 

"I  am  Felicity  des  Touches,"  she  said;  and  he:  "I  am 
Calyste  du  Gu6nic,  of  Gu6rande." 

"  Our  estates  join  on  this  moor  where  no  boundary  is  visible. 
Let  us  clasp  hands  in  a  friendship  that  shall  know  no  barriers. 
Come  and  see  me,  Calyste,  when  it  pleases  you,  as  if  we  had 
always  known  each  other." 


A  few  days  after  Calyste's  understanding  with  his  mother, 
Charlotte,  the  bride  that  had  been  selected  for  him  without  his 
consent,  came  to  visit  Guerande,  accompanied  by  her  mother, 
the  Viscountess  Kergarouet.  By  the  connivance  of  the  Baroness 
du  Guenic,  Calyste,  after  a  formal  welcome  of  the  visitors, 
slipped  away  to  Les  Touches.  Camille,  in  despair  over  Vignon's 
moodiness,  greeted  the  boy  with  joy. 


i66  BEATRIX 

''Perhaps  you  can  aid  me  with  our  homesick  Parisian,"  she 
said.  "I  have  set  out  to  galvanize  his  withered  heart,  to  save 
him  from  himself,  to  attach  him  to  me,  but  I  despair  of  succeed- 
ing. My  love  is  not  passionate  enough,  perhaps.  I  cannot  in- 
toxicate him  into  forgetfuhiess  of  his  grudge  against  the  v»^orld. 
You  and  he  must  get  drunk  together.  It  may  make  a  man  of 
him." 

Calyste  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Camille,  "here  am  I  thoughtless- 
ly depraving  your  maiden  innocence!  Forgive  me,  Calyste! 
When  you  love,  you  will  know  that  you  would  sacrifice  all  other 
persons  in  the  world  to  attain  the  smallest  of  your  purposes 
with  the  object  of  your  passion.  Only  a  mother's  affection 
can  compare  with  it.  Oh,  how  I  envy  your  mother!  To  have 
a  Calyste  of  my  own !  What  bliss !  And  you  shall  be  my  son. 
I  will  give  up  my  romantic  aspirations,  unfitting  my  age,  for 
the  joys  of  motherhood,  the  cares  of  which  I  have  not  borne. 
I  shall  leave  you  my  fortune." 

"I  can  give  you  nothing  in  return,"  replied  the  young  man, 
"and  so  shall  return  your  fortune  to  your  heirs." 

"Child!"  said  Camille,  in  her  rich  tones,  now  trembling 
with  emotion,  "can  nothing  save  me  from  myself?  But  I  must 
do  something  for  you;  what  shall  it  be?" 

"Give  me  the  chance  to  love!"  cried  Calyste,  passionately; 
"to  love  where  I  may  give  of  myself  something  in  measure  to 
what  I  shall  receive.  I  dare  not  hope  that  you,  so  far  above 
me,  so  rich  in  thoughts  and  emotions  that  overwhelm  me  with 
their  abundance,  and  daze  me  with  their  mystery,  shall  be  the 
beloved  one.  Oh,  sun  of  womankind,  are  there  not  planets 
that  revolve  about  you  upon  whom  I  may  dare  to  gaze?  I  am 
not  clever,  like  Monsieur  Vignon,  yet  such  a  love  as  I  desire 
would  make  me  so.     Then  perhaps " 

"Then  I  should  be  below  the  horizon,  and  the  new  star  ex- 
alted to  the  zenith.  Yes,  I  know  the  woman  for  you,  and  I 
shall  bring  her  here,  that  you  may  win  her.  I  have  already 
endowed  her  with  a  lover — Conti,  the  musician,  who  for  a  time 
was  my  satellite.  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  revenge  myself  on  the 
man  who  so  willingly  permitted  the  transfer,  by  seeing  him 
supplanted  in  turn.     Beatrix  de  Casteran,  Marquise  de  Roche- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  167 

fide  (for  she  has  a  husband  whom  she  deserted  for  Conti),  is  a 
woman  with  a  wonderful  gift  of  apprehending  everything. 
Hers  is  the  beauty  of  the  pure  white  rose  that  still  can  flush, 
oh,  so  delicately!  in  response  to  the  warmth  of  adoration. 
Your  cheek  is  already  glowing,  boy,  with  my  description,  and 
I  know  hers  must  be  tinged  in  subtle  sympathy,  distant  as  she 
is.  Are  you  never  so  bashful,  she  will  divine  your  fcehngs 
toward  her.  Nature  formed  her  kind  to  be  the  first  love  of 
maiden  youths,  although  not  always  the  last.  I  shall  send  for 
Beatrix  at  once." 

Within  a  week  young  Gu^nic,  who  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
conceal  his  disgust  at  the  countrified  airs  of  his  fiancee,  with 
whom  previously  he  had  been  delighted  to  romp,  was  over- 
joyed to  receive  a  note  from  Les  Touches,  saying: 

"My  dear  Calyste: — The  fair  Marquise  has  arrived. 
The  honor  of  Brittany  and  of  the  Guenics  is  at  stake  when 
there  is  a  Casteran  to  be  welcomed.     So  let  us  meet  soon. 

"Camille  Maupin." 

That  afternoon  the  young  Breton  walked  over  to  Les  Touches 
surrounded  by  a  halo  of  hope  through  which  he  beheld  all 
nature  in  a  glow,  revealing  herself  to  him,  as  constantly  of 
late,  in  feminine  attributes.  He  found  the  whole  party  in  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  room  was  full  of 
the  soft  gloom  that  women,  especially  those  who  have  passed 
their  youth,  love  so  well.  Lifting  up  the  tapestry  that  cur- 
tained the  door,  Calyste  stood  for  a  moment  surrounded  by 
the  red  rays  of  the  level  sun.  "Young  Apollo!"  he  heard 
ejaculated  in  a  low  tone,  and  then,  becoming  used  to  the  gloom, 
he  saw,  reclining  on  the  divan,  a  white,  sinuous  figure,  w^hose 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  in  frank  admiration.  In  an  instant 
the  young  man  was  possessed  by  a  passion  that  filled  to  the  full 
the  wild  longings  of  the  past  month.  Lionlike  he  looked  about 
to  see  who  might  dispute  his  right  to  the  love  that  had  come 
upon  him.  He  saw  by  the  side  of  the  woman  of  his  desire  a 
man  with  a  head  like  Lord  Byron's,  that  he  held  even  more 
proudly  than  was  the  wont  of  the  defiant  poet.  Calyste  divined 
at  once  that  this  was  Conti,  the  musician,  and  cast  at  him  a 


i68  BEATRIX 

glance  of  challenge,  a  feeling  he  had  never  had  for  Claude 
Vignon.  However,  the  well-bred  man  of  the  world  did  not 
appear  to  notice  it. 

As  soon  as  possible  Camille  took  the  young  man  aside  and 
said  to  him: 

"My  dear  boy,  if  the  Marquise  falls  in  love  with  you  she 
will  pitch  Conti  out  of  the  window;  but  you  are  behaving  in 
such  a  way  as  to  tighten  their  bonds.     Command  yourself." 

Later  in  the  evening,  urged  by  Vignon,  Conti  and  Camille 
sang  together,  among  other  duets  the  final  one  of  Zingarelli's 
Romeo  e  Giulielta,  which  expresses  the  extreme  of  passion. 
Calyste  was  overwhelmed  by  Conti's  genius.  In  spite  of  what 
Camille  had  told  him  of  the  man's  selfish,  even  groveling  char- 
acter, the  youth  believed  at  this  moment  that  the  singer  must 
have  a  beautiful  soul.  How  was  he  to  contend  against  such 
an  artist?  His  heart  was  filled  with  despair.  He  stole  from 
the  music-room  and  cast  himself  down  upon  the  divan  where 
he  had  first  seen  Beatrix.  Exhausted  with  emotion,  he  fell 
into  a  stupor  from  which  he  was  aroused  by  the  voices  of  Camille 
Maupin  and  Claude  Vignon,  conversing  in  low  tones  in  the 
dark.  Evidently  it  was  late  and  all  the  rest  of  the  party  had 
retired. 

The  critic,  the  practised  dissecter  of  souls,  was  laying  bare 
to  Camille  secrets  of  her  heart  of  which  she  herself  was  uncon- 
scious: "You  are  a  coward,  Camille;  you  love  Calyste,  and 
dare  not  confess  it  to  yourself.  You  were  appalled  at  the  con- 
sequences of  such  a  passion  at  your  age.  So  you  have  hurled 
the  boy  at  the  head  of  another  woman,  and  forced  yourself  to 
accept  me  as  his  substitute — me  of  all  men  to  attempt  to  de- 
ceive! And  I  must  confess  that  for  a  time  you  succeeded  in 
befooling  me.  I  had  hoped  for  a  union  of  spirit  with  you,  that 
we  might  soar  together  into  the  realm  of  infinitude.  You  were 
there,  already,  needing  not  my  aid  or  company.  And  so  I  was 
deceived. 

"To-morrow  I  go  back  in  this  misery  of  loneliness  to  the 
vast  prison  of  Paris.  You  will  remain  here  equally  desolate. 
God  pity  us  both,  Camille!" 

At  this  moment  Calyste  rose  from  the  couch:  "I  ought  to 
let  you  know  that  I  am  here,"  he  said. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  169 

However  much  Calystc  was  affected  at  first  by  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  Camille,  his  overwhelming  passion  for  Beatrix  soon 
swept  from  his  mind  all  consideration  of  his  accomplice's  feel- 
ings, and  the  plot  against  the  Marquise  and  Conti  advanced 
apace.  The  young  man  promised  blind  obedience  to  his 
mentor's  orders.  These  were  to  avoid  the  Marcjuise  as  much 
as  possible,  eluding  particularly  her  questioning,  and  to  pay 
assiduous  court  to  Camille.  "In  a  week,"  said  this  wily  woman, 
"Beatrix  will  be  crazy  about  you." 

To  the  Marquise  Camille  made  open  confession  of  her  love 
for  her  handsome  young  countryman,  and,  acknowledging  his 
infatuation  for  Beatrix,  threw  herself  on  the  Marquise's  mercy. 
"  Such  is  Calyste's  humihty  that  your  disdain  will  preserve  him 
to  me.  And  I  cannot  bear  to  lose  him.  If  I  do,  my  deter- 
mination is  fixed." 

"And  what  have  you  determined?"  asked  Beatrix,  with  an 
eagerness  that,  while  a  confirmation  of  Camille's  view  of  the 
Marquise's  character,  was  yet  a  shock  to  her  sentiments  of 
friendship. 

"Happily,"  answered  the  elder  woman,  "there  is  no  need 
to  answer  that  question.     I  know  how  to  win." 

"And  that?"  queried  Beatrix. 

"Is  my  secret,  my  dear,"  answered  Camille. 

By  Camille's  contrivance,  Conti  was  suddenly  recalled  to 
Paris,  and  Beatrix  was  left  alone  without  a  cavalier.  By  the 
end  of  the  week  the  Marquise  was  crazy — if  not  with  love,  with 
the  passion  to  possess  the  beloved  of  another  that  with  many 
women  supplies  the  place  of  love.  Camille  arranged  a  walk- 
ing-party to  the  rocky  shore  of  the  Breton  coast,  and  for  the 
first  time  permitted  Calyste  and  Beatrix  to  stray  off  together. 
Reaching  the  top  of  a  high  cliff,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  wild 
sea  tumbled  its  surges,  the  young  lover,  no  longer  able  to  re- 
strain his  passion,  declared  his  love  in  the  poetic  similitudes  to 
which  his  solitary  communings  with  nature  inclined  him: 

"My  love  for  you  is  like  yon  deep  and  tumuhuous  sea,"  he 
said.  "  Surging  in  my  heart  before  I  saw  you,  like  those  billows 
rolling  in  from  the  infinite  distance,  it  has  at  last  found  its  pre- 
destined goal " 

"In  a  rock-bound  coast,"  completed  Beatrix.     "Calyste,  I 


I70  BEATRIX 

must  be  adamant  to  youv  I  love  you,  but  I  will  not  sacrifice 
my  friend.  Camille  it  is,  who,  like  the  moon  to  the  tide,  is  the 
source  of  your  agitation." 

"Then  your  love  is  not  like  mine,"  said  the  ardent  youth. 
"For  you  I  would  sacrifice  my  friends,  my  family,  my  name, 
my  future  life." 

"Be  silent!"  said  Beatrix,  satisfied  with  her  conquest,  and 
thoroughly  alarmed  by  his  impetuosity.  "I  have  done  wrong 
enough.     I  forbid  you  to  speak  to  me  again  of  these  matters." 

"You  will  never  be  mine?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  choked  by 
a  storm  in  his  blood. 

"Never,  my  dear;  to  you  I  can  be  only  Beatrix — a  dream." 

"And  you  will  return  to  Conti?" 

"There  is  no  help  for  it." 

"Then  you  shall  never  more  be  any  man's,"  cried  Calyste, 
hurling  her  over  the  precipice. 

From  a  cleft  in  the  rock  protruded  a  box-tree,  in  which  the 
falling  woman  lodged.  Hardly  had  she  reached  it,  when  the 
repentant  youth  had  followed  her,  slipping  down  the  almost 
perpendicular  side  of  the  cliff.  Beatrix  was  unconscious. 
Gathering  her  in  his  arms,  as  they  lay  in  that  aerial  bed,  Calyste 
implored  her  to  open  her  eyes,  to  forgive  him.  Her  lips  quivered 
before  her  eyelids  moved.  Suddenly  he  found  himself  kissed 
with  a  passion  more  fervent  than  he  had  ever  imagined  in  his 
wildest  dream. 

Camille,  walking  on  the  shore  below,  had  been  a  spectator 
of  this  scene.  Taking  a  coil  of  rope  from  a  boat  drawn  up  on 
the  beach,  she  leaped  like  an  Amazon  (for  she  wore  Turkish 
trousers)  up  the  less  precipitous  slope  of  the  cliff  and  was  soon 
at  its  summit.  First  she  drew  up  the  light  and  agile  Calyste, 
and  then  by  his  help  rescued  the  Marquise. 

To  melt,  to  vitrify  flinty  hearts,  a  thunderbolt  is  needed. 
On  Beatrix  this  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  Calyste's  passion  and 
his  attempt  on  her  life.  She  now  looked  at  love  on  its  loftiest 
side.  She  saw  herself  in  Calyste's  eyes  the  supreme  woman. 
"Dear  boy,"  she  said  to  him,  "the  love  I  have  been  so  happy 
to  inspire  you  with  has  elevated  me  in  my  own  eyes.  If  ever 
you  desire  to  throw  me  down  from  this  moral  height,  do  not 
repent  your  resolution;  after  your  love,  death!" 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  171 

Then,  even  as  she  was  saying  these  tender  words,  while  she 
and  Calyste  were  walking  one  evening  through  the  garden  of 
Les  Touches,  with  arms  encircling  each  other,  they  came  upon 
Camille  and  Conti,  seated  on  a  bench,  talking  in  low  tones  with 
heads  close  together.  Conti  sprang  to  his  feet  laughing.  "You 
did  not  expect  me  back  from  Paris  so  soon,  I  suppose.  Thank 
you,  Monsieur  du  Gudnic,  for  so  satisfactorily  filling  my  place." 
And,  placing  his  arm  around  the  waist  from  which  Calyste's 
had  just  dropped  in  confusion,  he  walked  away  with  Beatrix, 
continuing  his  laughter. 

"He  is  mocking  her!"  cried  Calyste  to  Camille,  vehemently. 

" Keep  calm,"  said  Camille,  "or  you  will  lose  the  few  chances 
that  remain.  If  he  wounds  Beatrix's  vanity  too  much,  she  will 
trample  him  under  foot  Hke  a  worm.  But  he  is  astute.  He 
will  no  doubt  speak  of  you  as  a  boy  bewitched  by  the  notion  of 
ruling  the  destinies  of  two  famous  women.  Beatrix,  unable  to 
admit  me  as  a  rival,  will  entangle  herself  in  false  denials,  and  he 
will  come  away  master  of  the  situation." 

"Oh,  why  did  he  return?"  moaned  the  heart-broken  youth. 
"  One  day  more,  and  we  should  have  been  safely  on  our  way 
to  Ireland!    What  brought  him  back?" 

"The  failure  of  his  opera,  and  the  taunt  of  Vignon  that  it 
was  hard  to  lose  both  reputation  and  mistress,"  said  Camille. 

That  evening  Beatrix  sought  Camille  in  her  chamber.  "I 
am  lost!"  she  cried.  " The  convict  in  the  galleys  is  at  the  mercy 
of  the  man  he  is  chained  to.  I  must  go  back  to  the  hulks  of 
love !  At  last  I  recognize  your  infernal  plotting.  It  was  you 
who  brought  Conti  back!" 

The  Marquise's  features  were  distorted  with  rage,  while 
Camille  tried  to  conceal  her  triumph  under  an  expression  of 
regret. 

"I  leave  you  Calyste,"  said  Beatrix,  piercing  beneath  her 
rival's  mask,  "but  I  am  fixed  forever  in  his  heart." 

Camille  retorted  by  quoting  the  famous  speech  of  Mazarin's 
niece  to  Louis  XIV:  "You  reign,  you  love  him,  and  you  are 
going." 

In  the  meantime,  the  musician,  left  alone  with  Calyste,  was 
playing  with  the  young  Breton. 

"I  foresaw  that  you  would  love  Beatrix;    I  left  her  in  a 


172  BEATRIX 

situation  in  which  she  must  needs  flirt  with  you  without  ab- 
dicating her  sacred  majesty,  were  it  only  to  annoy  her  dear  friend 
Camille  Maupin.  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  love  her.  You  will 
be  doing  me  a  service.  I  am  at  this  moment  in  love  with  my 
newest  singer,  Mademoiselle  Falcon.  When  you  come  to  Paris 
you  will  say  I  have  exchanged  a  marquise  for  a  queen!" 

Joy  shed  its  glory  on  Calyste's  face.  This  was  all  that 
Conti  wanted. 

Returning  homeward  the  young  lover  trod  on  air.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  Guerande,  Conti  and  the  Marquise  were 
on  their  way  to  Paris. 

The  next  day  Calyste  set  out  early  for  Les  Touches.  Camille 
met  him  at  the  gate. 

"Gone!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Beatrix?"  cried  Calyste,  stunned. 

"You  were  duped  by  Conti.  You  told  me  nothing;  I  could 
do  nothing." 

In  her  wisdom  Camille  knew  it  was  useless  to  talk  of  Bea- 
trix's unworthiness  to  the  heart-broken  young  man.  He  alarmed 
her  by  the  calmness  of  his  despair.  He  asked  to  see  Beatrix's 
room.  Hiding  his  face  in  the  pillow  where  her  head  had  rested, 
to  Camille's  great  relief  he  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears. 

Returning  home,  he  found  the  family  and  their  guests  play- 
ing cards.  Having  heard  of  the  departure  of  the  woman  with 
whom  he  was  infatuated,  each  of  them  watched  him  by  stealth, 
and  all  but  his  mother  observed  with  gratification  his  calmness. 
She  alone  suspected  what  the  death  of  a  first  love  must  be  to  a 
heart  so  true  and  artless. 

Taking  her  aside,  "Mother,"  he  said,  "another  has  plucked 
my  flower  of  romance.  Tell  them  I  will  marry  whom  and  when 
they  please." 


A    DISTINGUISHED    PROVINCIAL   AT   PARIS    (1839) 

This  work  originally  formed  the  second  part  of  Illusions  Perdues  ("Lost 
Illusions"),  and  two  chapters  first  appeared  in  the  Estajette,  in  1839.  It  is  in- 
cluded in  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  de  Province.  Many  of  the  characters  appear 
in  other  works.  Etienne  Lousteau  is  supposed  to  be  a  portrait  of  the  critic, 
Jules  Janin.  In  1839  Balzac  wrote  to  Madame  Hanska:  "You  will  read  the 
Grand  Homme,  a  work  full  of  verve,  in  wliich  you  will  once  more  encounter 
Florine,  Nathan,  Lousteau,  Blondet,  Finot,  those  'great  personages'  of  my 
work,  as  you  have  the  kindness  to  call  them.  But  what  will  recommend  this 
book  to  the  attention  of  strangers  is  the  audacious  painting  of  the  inner  life  of 
Parisian  journahsm — which  is  of  terrifying  exactitude.  I  alone  was  in  a  position 
to  tell  our  journalists  the  truth,  and  to  make  war  upon  them  cl  Voutrance."  The 
Grand  Homtne  de  Province  stirred  up  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  the  realistic 
author. 

^UCIEN  CHARDON,  traveling  post  with  his 
inamorata  for  the  first  time  in  his  hfe,  was  hor- 
rified to  see  nearly  the  whole  sum  he  meant  to 
live  on  for  a  year  in  Paris  used  up  on  the  road. 
He  made  a  great  mistake  in  expressing  surprise 
at  the  new  and  wonderful  things  he  saw.  Many 
a  woman  likes  to  see  the  god  in  her  idol  and 
cannot  forgive  any  childishness;  and  Madame 
de  Bargeton's  love  was  grafted  on  pride — a  fact 
that  Lucien  had  not  yet  guessed.  Instead  of  keeping  himself 
to  himself,  he  indulged  in  the  playfulness  of  a  young  rat  emerg- 
ing from  his  hole  for  the  first  time.  The  travelers  were  set 
down  at  the  sign  of  the  Gaillard-Bois  in  the  Rue  de  I'Echelle, 
at  daybreak.  They  did  not  see  each  other  till  four  o'clock. 
Lucien  noticed  an  unaccountable  change  in  his  Louise.  A 
change  had  indeed  taken  place.  While  Lucien  slept,  she  had 
received  a  call  from  Monsieur  du  Chitelet,  who  had  followed 
her  to  Paris;  and  he  told  her  if  she  wanted  the  influence  of 
Madame  d'Espard  she  must  not  live  in  the  same  house  with 
Lucien.  The  Baron  offered  to  find  suitable  lodgings  for  her 
that  evening.  She  agreed;  and  the  elderly  dandy,  perfectly 
familiar  with   Parisian  ways  and  faultlessly  dressed,  formed  a 

173 


174    A   DISTINGUISHED   PROVINCIAL  AT   PARIS 

striking  contrast  to  the  half-awakened,  hastily  dressed  Lucien, 
in  his  last  year's  nankeen  trousers  and  shabby,  tight  jacket. 
After  dinner  Louise  told  her  young  lover,  Lucien,  of  the  new 
arrangement;  and  two  hours  later  she  was  installed  in  the 
Rue  Neuve  de  Luxembourg,  The  Baron  called  and  impressed 
the  provincial  lady  stiU  more.  The  next  day  Lucien  rambled 
about  the  streets  and  called  to  see  Louise.  He  found  the 
Baron  there,  who  took  them  to  dinner  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale 
and  afterward  to  the  Vaudeville. 

That  evening  marked  an  epoch  in  Lucien's  career;  he  bade 
farewell  to  many  of  his  provincial  ideas;  his  horizon  widened 
and  society  assumed  different  proportions.  He  looked  around 
at  the  fair  Parisiennes  in  their  beautiful  toilets,  and  thought 
that  the  once  peerless  Louise  seemed  rather  dowdy.  The  ar- 
rangement of  her  hair,  too,  so  bewitching  in  Angouleme,  was 
simply  frightful  in  Paris.  Madame  de  Bargeton  thought  her 
poet  cut  a  "positively  pitiable"  figure,  as  she  compared  him 
with  the  correct  young  dandies  in  the  balcony.  His  sleeves 
were  too  short;  his  country  gloves  ill-cut;  and  his  waistcoat 
was  too  tight — indeed,  he  looked  "prodigiously  ridiculous." 
In  these  lovers  a  process  of  disenchantment  was  at  work ;  Paris 
was  the  cause.  The  next  evening,  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who 
was  spending  the  day  with  Madame  d'Espard,  invited  Lucien  to 
join  them  at  the  Opera.  Lucien  spent  the  afternoon  in  the 
Garden  of  the  Tuileries,  where  he  noted  the  well-dressed  youths 
and  men  of  fashion.  A  cold  sweat  broke  out  over  him  as  he 
compared  his  appearance  with  theirs,  and  thought  of  the  clothes 
he  must  wear  at  the  Opera.  He  noted  also  the  famous  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  Madame  Firmiani,  and  other  celebrities. 
Compared  with  these  queens,  Louise  was  an  old  woman.  After 
dining  at  Very's  (he  could  have  hved  a  month  in  Angouleme 
on  the  price  of  that  dinner),  he  rushed  to  his  inn,  got  a  hundred 
crowns,  and  returned  to  the  Palais-Royal,  where  he  made  the 
necessary  purchases  for  his  evening  outfit,  and  then  inquired 
for  a  hair-dresser.  The  Marquise  invited  Monsieur  de  Rubem- 
pre  to  take  a  front  seat  in  her  box,  which  was  conspicuously 
situated.  Louise  de  Negrepelisse  looked  the  same  as  on  the 
previous  night — tall,  lean,  withered,  angular,  affected  in  man- 
ner, provincial  and  pompous  in  her  speech,  and  dowdily  dressed. 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  175 

Lucicn  felt  ashamed  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  "this  cuttlefish 
bone."  He,  on  his  part,  was  ill  at  case,  and  his  manners  as- 
tonished the  Marquise.  The  social  celebrities  stared  hard  at 
Madame  d'Espard's  two  country  guests,  and  Rastignac  and 
Chatelet,  who  were  in  the  audience,  pulled  the  feathers  off  M. 
de  Rubcmpre,  and  said  that  his  name  was  really  Chardon,  and 
that  he  was  an  apothecary's  son.  Madame  d'Espard  and 
Louise,  not  willing  to  stand  the  ridicule,  left  the  Opera ;  and  the 
doors  of  the  Marquise's  house  were  closed  to  M.  de  Rubemprd. 

The  next  time  Lucien  saw  these  ladies  they  were  driving 
in  the  Bois ;  and  they  cut  him  dead.  By  this  time,  Madame  de 
Bargeton  had  become  quite  Parisian  in  appearance,  under  the 
Marquise's  guidance.  Lucien  removed  to  a  cheap  room  in 
the  Latin  Quarter,  and  wrote  a  rhetorical  epistle  to  Louise  and 
another  to  his  sister  Eve,  who  had  just  married  David  Sechard, 
the  Angouleme  printer.  Dining  at  the  famous  Flicoteaux's 
restaurant,  he  came  across  a  young  man,  Etienne  Lousteau, 
who,  like  Lucien,  had  come  to  Paris  from  the  provinces  to  win 
fame  and  money  through  literature.  An  experience  of  two 
years  and  some  fame  as  a  journalist — he  wrote  book  reviews 
and  dramatic  criticisms — made  him  a  hero  in  Lucien's  eyes. 
Lucien  spent  his  mornings  studying  at  the  Biblictheque  Sainte- 
Genevieve;  strohed  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens;  dined  at 
FHcoteaux's;  and  went  to  the  theater  at  night.  He  now  began 
his  rounds  with  his  two  manuscripts.  The  conversations  that 
he  overheard  while  waiting  to  see  the  heads  of  firms  destroyed 
more  illusions.  He  was  astonished  to  discover  that  publishers 
regarded  books  "as  merchandise  to  be  sold  dear  and  bought 
cheap";  that  they  drove  sharp  bargains;  and  that  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  chicanery  in  the  business.  Lucien  left  his  Archer 
0}  Charles  IX  with  "Old  Doguereau,"  as  he  was  familiarly 
called,  who  took  his  address,  and  said  he  would  call.  Doguereau 
liked  the  book,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  buy  it  for  a  thou- 
sand francs.  But  when  he  climbed  the  stairs,  and  saw  the  for- 
lorn room,  "the  destitution  of  genius  made  an  impression  on 
Daddy  Doguereau." 

"  Let  him  preserve  these  simple  habits  of  life,  this  frugality, 
these  modest  requirements,"  thought  he.  Aloud  he  said:  "It 
is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  you.     Thus,  sir,  lived  Jean- Jacques, 


176    A   DISTINGUISHED   PROVINCIAL  AT   PARIS 

whom  you  resemble  in  more  ways  than  one.  Amid  such  sur- 
roundings the  fire  of  genius  shines  brightly ;  good  work  is  done 
in  such  rooms  as  these."  Thereupon,  he  offered  Lucien  four 
hundred  francs  for  his  book.  Lucien  declined.  In  his  dis- 
appointment, he  met  a  fellow-worker  that  afternoon,  coming 
out  of  the  library.  They  had  seen  each  other  here  and  at  Fli- 
coteaux's.  They  spoke.  Lucien  told  his  troubles,  and,  in  ex- 
change, received  a  longer  story  of  hard  experiences  from  the 
talented  Daniel  d'Arthez,  who  invited  him  to  call  and  show 
him  his  manuscript.  Lucien  did  so  that  evening,  and  found 
his  new  friend  in  a  poor  room.  D'Arthez  read  and  criticized 
the  historical  romance,  and  told  Lucien  that  he  earned  a  scanty 
living  by  writing  for  encyclopedias,  dictionaries,  etc.,  while  he 
studied  philosophy  and  literature.  His  friends  were  all  earnest 
students — young  naturalists,  doctors,  artists,  and  writers.  Lu- 
cien was  soon  invited  to  join  this  '^cSnacle  of  lofty  thinkers," 
who  often  met  in  D'Arthez's  room.  Horace  Bianchon,  L6on 
Giraud,  Joseph  Bridau,  Fulgence  Ridal,  and  Michel  Chrestien 
made  an  oasis  for  Lucien  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre-Vents.  They 
lent  him  money,  and,  better  still,  gave  him  faithful  friendship. 
Chrestien's  advice  was :  "  Carry  all  the  cravings  of  imagination 
into  the  world  of  vanity." 

Lucien  insisted  that  he  could  not  bear  the  burden  of  Parisian 
life.     "I  cannot  struggle  bravely,"  he  said. 

"We  will  stand  by  you,"  said  D'Arthez;  "it  is  just  in  these 
ways  that  a  faithful  friendship  is  of  use." 

"Stick  by  us,"  said  Bianchon,  "bear  up  bravely  and  trust 
in  hard  work." 

"But  what  is  hardship  for  you  is  death  for  me,"  Lucien 
put  in  quickly. 

"Before  the  cock  crows  thrice,"  smiled  L^on  Giraud,  "this 
man  will  betray  the  cause  of  work  for  an  idle  life  and  the  vices 
of  Paris." 

These  friends  begged  him  not  to  go  into  journalism.  They 
said  it  was  "  an  inferno,  a  bottomless  pit  of  iniquity  and  treach- 
ery and  lies,  which  no  one  can  traverse  undefiled,  unless,  like 
Dante,  he  is  protected  by  Virgil's  sacred  laurel." 

Lucien  would  not  listen;  and,  having  tried  the  publishers, 
he  now  tried  the  newspapers.     He  had  his  first  shock  at  the 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  177 

Solitaire,  where  he  got  an  insight  into  the  ways  of  dcahng  with 
subscribers.  Then  he  ran  across  Lousteau,  and  talked  over 
the  question  of  joumahsm  with  him.  He  also  read  to  him  some 
of  his  sonnets  from  The  Marguerites:  Easter  Daisies,  The  Mar- 
guerite, The  Camellia,  and  The  Tulip  (the  latter  admired  by 
the  cenacle).  Lousteau  told  him  that  poetry  meant  starva- 
tion; and  then  he  enlightened  him  with  regard  to  the  uni- 
versal corruption  in  the  world  of  journalism  and  literature.  "It 
is  always  the  same  story,"  he  said;  "year  after  year  the 
same  rush  from  the  provinces  to  Paris ;  but  one  by  one  they 
drop,  some  into  the  trench  where  failures  lie,  some  into  the 
mire  of  journalism,  some  again  into  the  quagmires  of  the 
book-trade." 

Lucien  had  made  up  his  mind.  He  agreed  to  call  for  Lous- 
teau, dine  with  him  at  Dauriat's,  be  introduced  to  several 
journalists,  attend  a  first  night  at  the  Panorama-Dramatique, 
and  have  supper  with  Lousteau's  mistress,  Florine,  where  he 
would  meet  Finot,  editor  and  proprietor  of  Lousteau's  paper. 
The  atmosphere  of  Lousteau's  room  was  a  great  contrast  to 
that  of  D'Arthez.  Before  going  out,  Lousteau  had  to  get  some 
money  from  an  old  pawnbroker  and  bookseller,  Barbet,  who 
called  and  took  away  some  of  the  books  sent  for  review.  Lous- 
teau then  told  Lucien  how  book-reviews  were  written  without 
the  writer  seeing  the  books.  Lousteau  paid  the  cabman  three 
francs  (which  astounded  the  provincial  poet),  when  they  got 
out  at  the  "Wooden  Galleries,"  where  "fashionable  hterature, 
as  it  is  called,  used  to  reign  in  state." 

The  Wooden  Galleries  of  the  Palais-Royal  were,  at  this 
period,  one  of  the  sights  of  Paris.  Here  were  shops  full  of 
striking  articles;  booksellers,  tailors,  and  milliners  were  side 
by  side;  and  ventriloquists  and  charlatans,  performing  dogs 
and  automatic  chess-players  plied  their  queer  trades  in  a  jumble 
with  florists  and  fruiterers.  Women  of  the  town,  too,  made  a 
promenade  of  this  place.  Lucien  was  dazzled  and  thunder- 
struck at  the  book-talk  between  Lousteau,  Dauriat,  and  Finot, 
regarding  the  sales  of  poetry.  Lousteau  shrunk  somewhat  in 
Lucien's  eyes.  The  most  important  man  in  Paris  was  un- 
doubtedly the  fashionable  bookseller,  by  whom  all  great  literary 
men  lived.  Lucien  halted  no  longer  between  the  resignation 
A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 12 


178    A   DISTINGUISHED   PROVINCIAL  AT   PARIS 

preached  by  the  brotherhood  in  the  Latin  Quarter  and  Lous- 
teau's  militant  doctrine. 

He  was  impressed  with  the  power  of  the  press  when  he 
entered  the  Panorama-Dramatique  with  Lousteau.  He  went 
with  him  behind  the  scenes,  and  saw  all  the  curious  Hfe  and 
manners  there.  He  was  introduced  to  Monsieur  Raoul  Nathan, 
a  critic,  Vemou,  Finot,  and  several  actresses,  including  Florine 
and  Coralie.  Matifat,  a  wealthy  chemist,  was  in  her  dressing- 
room.  Coralie  also  had  an  admirer,  a  rich  silk-mercer  named 
Camusot.  Lucien  had  gone  from  surprise  to  surprise.  For 
two  months  he  had  seen  literature  in  poverty  and  want  in  the 
Latin  Quarter;  he  had  seen  literature  at  its  cynical  worst  in 
Lousteau's  rooms;  and  he  had  seen  literature  abject  and  liter- 
ature insolent  in  the  Wooden  Galleries.  Now  he  was  to 
undergo  his  initiation  into  the  intrigues  of  actors,  critics,  jour- 
nalists, and  playwrights,  as  well  as  the  dissipated,  frivolous  life 
of  the  votaries  of  the  footlights.  The  beautiful  Jewess,  Cora- 
lie, with  her  oval  and  ivory-tinted  face,  pomegranate  lips,  ebony 
hair,  and  jet-black,  long-lashed  eyes,  lost  her  heart.  Lousteau 
told  this  to  Lucien  during  the  play.  Lucien  told  Lousteau 
about  his  love-affair  with  Madame  de  Bargeton  and  his  en- 
mity to  the  Baron  du  Chatelet. 

"Very  good!"  said  Lousteau,  "we  want  a  bete  noire  for  our 
newspaper;  we  will  take  him  up.  Finot  is  short  of  copy.  You 
can  do  the  play,  and  I  will  get  out  three  columns  about  the 
elderly  buck  and  your  disdainful  lady." 

"  So  this  is  how  a  newspaper  is  written !"  said  Lucien.  After 
the  play  they  went  to  Florine's  luxurious  rooms,  provided  by 
Matifat.  Lucien  retired  to  her  pretty  boudoir,  and,  by  the 
light  of  the  pink  candles,  wrote  his  first  newspaper  article  on 
the  first  performance  of  the  Alcalde  in  a  Fix,  an  imbroglio  in 
three  acts — first  appearance  of  Mademoiselle  Florine  and  Made- 
moiselle Coralie.  At  the  same  time  Lousteau  wrote  The  Elderly 
Beau,  and  hit  off  the  Baron  du  Chatelet  and  "the  cuttlefish 
bone."  That  evening  Lucien  saw  the  very  heart's  core  of 
cankerous  Paris;  but,  so  far  from  shuddering  at  the  sight,  he 
was  intoxicated  with  the  enjoyment  of  the  intellectual  and 
stimulating  society  in  which  he  found  himself.  The  extraor- 
dinary men,  clad  in  armor  damascened  by  their  vices,  these 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  179 

intellects  environed  by  cold  and  bitter  analysis,  seemed  far 
greater  in  his  eyes  than  the  grave  and  earnest  members  of  the 
brotherhood.  Besides  all  this  he  was  reveling  in  his  first  taste 
of  luxury ;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  tasted  delicious  wines 
and  saw  cookery  carried  to  the  pitch  of  a  fine  art.  A  minister 
and  a  duke  were  present,  and  amid  the  fragrance  of  wine, 
steaming  dishes,  and  bright  candles  was  the  loveliest  actress  in 
Paris — the  beautiful  Coralie,  made  happy  by  a  few  words  of  his ! 

Lucien,  unaccustomed  to  orgies  of  this  kind,  succumbed, 
and  was  taken  by  Coralie  to  her  home  in  the  Rue  de  Vendomc, 
where  she  and  her  servant,  Berenice,  put  him  to  bed.  Lucien 
now  made  his  home  with  Coralie  in  the  luxurious  apartments 
provided  by  Camusot.  His  review  made  a  great  success. 
Daniel  d'Arthez,  too,  saw  it,  and  wrote  him  a  letter  full  of  con- 
gratulation and  regrets.  He  saw  the  road  on  which  Lucien 
had  begun  to  travel. 

Lucien  then  went  to  see  his  friends  in  the  Latin  Quarter; 
but  he  had  gone  too  far  away  from  their  lofty  ideals.  Under 
the  tutelage  of  Lousteau,  Lucien  began  to  pull  many  wires. 
Lousteau  got  the  editorship  of  Finot's  paper,  and  Lucien  was 
taken  on  the  staff.  Dauriat  now  returned  The  Marguerites  to 
Lucien,  and  Lousteau  showed  him  how  to  get  him  to  publish  it. 
A  severe  review  by  Lucien  of  Nathan's  new  book,  published 
by  Dauriat,  caused  that  publisher  to  make  terms.  He 
called  on  Lucien  at  Coralie's  house,  and  agreed  to  issue  The 
Marguerites  if  Lucien  would  agree  to  attack  no  more  of  his 
publications. 

Coralie  bestowed  everything  upon  Lucien :  her  love,  beauti- 
ful presents,  and  handsome  clothes.  In  a  fit  of  sentiment,  he 
sent  some  money  to  Eve,  David,  and  his  mother;  and  Coralie 
thought  him  a  model  son  and  brother.  One  night,  at  the 
Opera,  he  attracted  attention,  and  the  Comtesse  de  Mont- 
comet  told  Blondet  to  bring  him  to  her  home.  The  Baron  du 
Chatelet  had  taken  the  skit  about  the  Baron  Heron  and  the 
cuttlefish  seriously,  and  Blondet  was  willing  to  try  to  reconcile 
Madame  de  Bargeton  and  Lucien  at  Madame  de  Montcomet's 
house.  Lucien,  however,  wanted  to  write  something  sharp 
against  "the  Heron  and  the  Cuttlefish,"  before  going.  For  a 
month,  Lucien's  time  was  taken  up  with  supper-parties,  break- 


i8o    A   DISTINGUISHED   PROVINCIAL  AT   PARIS 

fasts,  and  evening  gatherings.  Easy  work  and  dissipation, 
without  a  thought  of  the  future,  filled  his  whole  time.  In 
dress  and  figure  he  was  a  rival  to  all  the  dandies  of  the  day. 
When  he  went  to  the  German  Minister's  dinner,  he  was  the 
equal  in  appearance  of  Rastignac,  De  Marsay,  Vandenesse, 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  the  other  young  men  of  fashion. 
Madame  de  Montcomet  and  Madame  d'Espard  overwhelmed 
him  with  attentions.  The  Marquise  told  him  that  Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  was  dead,  and  reproached  him  for  having 
wounded  Louise's  heart.  The  insight  she  gave  him  into 
society  was  another  lost  illusion.  Of  the  bad  faith  in  journal- 
ism he  had  had  some  experience;  but  he  hardly  expected  to 
find  bad  faith  or  treachery  in  society.  There  were  still  some 
sharp  lessons  in  store  for  him.  The  Marquise  told  him  also 
that  Louise  was  trying  to  get  a  royal  patent,  permitting  him  to 
bear  the  name  and  title  of  De  Rubempre. 

In  the  Minister's  hotel  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- Germain 
Lucien  saw  a  very  different  kind  of  splendor  from  that  of  the 
world  in  which  he  had  been  living.  Wlien  he  stepped  into  the 
carriage  in  the  courtyard,  however,  Coralie  was  waiting  for 
him.  A  week  later,  Lucien  went  to  Madame  de  Montcomet 's 
house.  There  he  met  Louise,  now  a  happy  widow.  Her  old 
feeling  for  Lucien  returned;  but  he  would  not  sacrifice  the 
actress  for  the  great  lady.  She  left  the  room  with  a  fixed  deter- 
mination to  be  revenged. 

Lucien  was  a  great  success.  Beautiful  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  so  well  known  as  "Camille  Maupin,"  asked  him  to 
one  of  her  Wednesday  dinners.  Another  thing  turned  the  poet's 
head :  every  man  who  entered  a  drawing-room  had  a  title,  while 
he  was  plain  Chardon.  He  learned  to  ride,  and  escorted  great 
ladies  in  the  Bois,  and  Finot  gave  him  an  order  to  criticize  the 
Opera,  where  he  spent  many  evenings.  In  short,  he  became 
one  of  the  exquisites  of  the  day.  He  made  mistakes,  however, 
and  one  of  his  greatest  blunders  was  in  giving  a  breakfast  in 
Coralie's  rooms  to  Rastignac  and  his  fashionable  friends. 
Lucien  also  took  to  cards  and  gambling — rivals  that  Coralie 
did  not  fear.  Chatelet,  seeing  that  his  rival  still  had  a  chance, 
became  Lucien's  friend,  and  encouraged  him  in  dissipation  that 
wasted   his  energies.     Debts   increased,   and  finally   creditors 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  i8i 

seized  Coralie's  horses,  carriages,  and  furniture  for  four  thousand 
francs;  everything  else  was  at  the  pawnbroker's. 

Loustcau  and  Florinc  were  in  the  same  phght.  Lousteau 
and  Lucien  tried  in  various  ways  to  raise  money,  among  pub- 
lishers, booksellers,  and  Jew  usurers;  then  they  tried  gambling. 
When  Lucien  went  home  he  found  a  note  from  Coralie.  The 
Panorama-Dramatique  had  suddenly  failed ;  and  she,  in  alarm, 
had  sold  her  furniture  and  hurried  with  Bdr^nice  and  twelve 
hundred  francs  to  a  fourth-floor  lodging  in  the  Rue  de  la  Lune. 
Lucien  awoke  next  morning  in  an  enchanted  world  of  happiness 
made  about  him  by  Coralie.  She  was  even  more  loving  and 
tender  in  these  days  of  poverty.  Coralie  began  to  study  a  part 
for  the  Gymnase,  and  Lucien  built  hopes  on  his  new  position 
as  a  Royalist  journalist.  As  B^r^nice  was  serving  a  modest 
breakfast,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Giraud,  Chrestien, 
and  D'Arthez  entered.  They  had  come  to  beg  Lucien  not  to 
sully  his  character  by  becoming  a  turncoat.  They  could  do 
nothing  with  him;  for  he  was  determined  to  take  his  place  in 
society  as  Count  Lucien  de  Rubempr6.  The  next  day  Lucien 
allowed  his  name  to  appear  in  the  list  of  contributors  to  the 
Reveil,  and  joined  the  Royalist  journalists  with  a  great  flourish 
and  a  dinner  at  Robert's.  The  Opposition  papers  ridiculed 
him  unmercifully;  and,  in  the  very  paper  in  which  he  had  made 
so  brilliant  a  beginning,  Lucien  was  called  "the  Poet  sans 
Sonnets";  and  a  paragraph,  pretending  to  explain  why  Dauriat 
withheld  them  from  publication  was  accompanied  by  a  bitter 
burlesque  sonnet  called  Le  Chardon  ("The  Thistle"),  in  allu- 
sion to  his  name. 

Lucien  had  been  a  Liberal  and  a  hot  Voltairean;  now  he 
was  a  rabid  Royalist  and  a  Romantic.  "I  cannot  think  of 
another  example  of  such  rapid  success,"  said  Finot  one  night; 
"his  old  friends  cannot  forgive  him  for  it;  they  call  it  luck." 
The  fact  was,  he  had  lost  all  of  his  friends,  even  Lousteau. 

Lucien  now  took  a  humiliating  step:  he  actually  went  to 
Camusot  and  got  him  to  discount  some  bills;  but  he  did  not 
tell  this  to  Coralie.  Next,  he  played  traitor  to  D'Arthez,  whose 
book  was  given  him  to  review.  It  was  on  the  eve  of  Coralie's 
d^but  at  the  Gymnase.  He  was  ordered  to  write  "a  slashing 
article,"  which  he  at  first  refused  to  do.     He  was  told  that  a 


i82    A   DISTINGUISHED   PROVINCIAL  AT   PARIS 

renegade  could  not  do  as  he  pleased,  and  to  choose  between 
D'Arthez  and  Corahe;  for,  if  he  did  not  "slate"  the  book,  a 
blow  should  be  dealt  to  Coralie.  Lucien  went  to  D'Arthez 
and  told  him  that  he  was  ordered  to  write  an  attack  of  his 
book.  After  all,  Coralie  failed;  for  the  audience  was  cold  and 
the  press  bitter.  Corahe  became  ill,  and  Florine  (who  was  in 
the  intrigue)  took  her  part  and  created  a  sensation.  Lucien 
then  tried  Frascati's,  and  lost  everything;  and,  running  across 
Finot,  who  gave  him  an  anecdote  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals, 
promised  to  write  articles  for  his  paper.  He  also  persuaded 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  give  Coralie  the  heroine's  part 
in  a  play  she  was  writing.  The  terrible  story  of  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seals  was  published.  Lucien  was  discovered  as  the  author 
and  disgraced.  Baron  du  Chatelet  told  Lucien  that  but  for  his 
articles  he  would  not  so  soon  have  been  given  the  title  of  Comte 
du  Chatelet,  and  that  he  was  now  Councilor  Extraordinary, 
with  the  promise  of  the  prefecture  of  the  Charente.  They  went 
together  to  the  Secretary-General's  ofhce.  Des  Lupeaulx,  a 
functionary,  denounced  Lucien,  and  showed  him  the  manu- 
script of  the  article  that  had  appeared  in  Finot's  paper.  Lucien 
was  stunned.  He  went  into  the  Place  Vendome;  and,  while 
wandering  about,  saw  his  book  advertised,  with  a  ridiculous 
title.  He  did  not  notice  Rastignac  and  De  Marsay,  nor  Leon 
Giraud  and  Michel  Chrestien  approaching. 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Chardon?"  said  the  latter. 

''Do  you  not  know  me?"  said  Lucien,  turning  pale. 

Michel  spat  in  his  face:  "Take  that  as  your  wages  for  your 
article  against  D'Arthez.  If  everybody  would  do  as  I  do,  in 
his  own  or  his  friend's  behalf,  the  press  would  be  as  it  ought  to 
be — a  self-respecting  and  respected  priesthood."  Lucien  struck 
Michel  in  the  face,  and  asked  Rastignac  to  be  his  second.  In 
the  duel,  Lucien  was  wounded,  and  Coralie  found  it  difficult 
to  act  away  from  her  prostrate  lover.  Lucien 's  book  failed; 
Camusot  entered  proceedings  against  him;  Coralie  broke  down 
and  had  to  give  her  part  to  Florine;  and  debt,  distress,  and 
poverty  threatened  to  engulf  them.  In  despair,  Lucien  imitated 
the  handwriting  of  his  brother-in-law,  David  Sechard,  and 
drew  three  bills  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  due  in  one,  two,  and 
three  months,  and   indorsed  and  took  them  to  Metivier,  who 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  183 

gave  him  the  cash.  Lucicn  paid  the  debts  and  tried  to  work, 
but  he  had  "written  himself  out." 

Bianchon  now  told  them  that  Coralie  had  only  a  few  days 
to  hve.  Her  death  took  all  the  heart  out  of  Lucien;  and,  in 
order  to  pay  the  funeral  expenses,  he  had  to  write  ten  rollicking 
songs  to  fit  popular  airs.  He  was  shouting  the  reckless  refrain 
when  D'Arthez  and  Bianchon  arrived  to  find  him  in  a  paroxysm 
of  despair  and  exhaustion.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  arrived 
with  money,  but  she  came  too  late:  Coralie,  aged  nineteen 
years,  was  dead! 

Lucien  now  decided  to  return  to  Angouleme;  but  he  could 
not  find  enough  money.  Berenice  got  it  for  him  from  a  stranger. 
"Here  are  your  twenty  francs,"  she  said,  "they  may  cost  dear, 
yet;  but  you  can  go."  She  fled.  This  was  the  final  brand  set 
upon  Lucien  by  life  in  Paris. 


URSULE  MIROUET  (1841) 

Balzac  considered  this  novel  a  "most  beautiful  piece  of  work."  He  dedi- 
cated it  to  his  niece,  saying:  "You  young  girls  are  a  public  to  be  dreaded;  you 
ought  never  to  be  suffered  to  read  any  book  less  pure  than  your  own  pure  souls." 

N  1778,  Mesmer,  the  discoverer  of  animal  mag- 
netism, settled  in  Paris,  where  he  created  a  great 
sensation  by  the  practise  of  his  art.  He  was 
bitterly  opposed  by  the  physicians  of  the  city, 
chief  among  whom  was  Dr.  Minoret,  a  member 
of  the  circle  known  as  encyclopedists,  and  at 
last  he  was  driven  from  Paris  to  end  his  days  in 
poverty  and  exile. 

Though  an  ardent  atheist  and  a  Republican, 
Dr.  Minoret  had  married  a  devout  Catholic  and  Royalist,  Ursule, 
daughter  of  Valentin  Mirouet,  the  famous  harpsichord-player. 
During  the  Revolution  she  died  of  an  aneurism,  precipitated 
by  the  sight  of  Madame  Roland  on  her  way  to  the  guillotine. 
She  left  no  children  to  be  a  solace  to  her  desolated  husband. 

Now  her  father,  Valentin  Mirouet,  had  a  natural  son,  known 
as  Joseph  Mirouet,  whom  he  recognized  but  never  legiti- 
matized out  of  regard  for  his  daughter,  Madame  Minoret. 
Handsome,  a  divine  singer,  Joseph  was  withal  wayward,  and 
ran  away  in  early  manhood  to  make  a  career  for  himself.  At 
the  age  of  forty  he  married  a  music-mad  daughter  of  a  merchant 
in  Hamburg.  The  blissful  pair  ran  through  with  her  fortune 
in  less  than  a  year,  when,  happily  ignorant  of  this  fact,  the  wife 
died  in  giving  birth  to  a  daughter.  Joseph  drifted  with  the 
infant  to  Paris,  shortly  before  the  capitulation  of  that  city  in 
1 81 4,  and,  humbled  by  poverty,  took  a  situation  as  regimental 
bandmaster.  Worn  out  by  grief  and  privation,  he  became 
mortally  ill,  and  was  taken  to  the  camp  hospital,  where  Dr. 
Minoret  chanced  to  find  him.  The  physician  made  the  last 
hours  of  the  dying  man  happy  by  adopting  the  child,  standing 

184 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  185 

godfather  to  her  (though  "church  mummeries"  were  repugnant 
to  him)  and  christening  her  with  the  name  of  his  beloved  wife, 
Ursule.  Thenceforth  the  doctor  began  to  hve  for  Httle  Ursule 
alone.  He  would  sometimes  tell  his  friends  that  he  suHered 
from  pain  in  his  teeth  when  the  baby  was  cutting  hers. 

FeeHng  that  Paris  in  those  troublous  times  was  no  place  in 
which  to  rear  a  child,  the  old  man  thought  of  his  birthplace, 
Nemours,  which  he  had  not  visited  since  he  was  a  young  man. 
Having  purchased  a  suitable  house  there  through  an  agent,  he 
suddenly  made  his  appearance  in  that  provincial  seat,  creating 
the  greatest  possible  excitement  among  its  citizens,  for  Nemours 
was  inhabited  chiefly  by  an  intermixture  of  famihes  of  which 
the  clan  Minoret  furnished  the  common  base.  There  were 
such  families  as  Massin-Minoret,  Minoret-Minoret,  Minoret- 
Levrault,  Minoret-Cr^miere,  besides  offshoots  such  as  Minoret- 
Franfois  and  Jean-Minoret — enough  to  madden  a  Father 
Anselme,  if  Nemours  ever  required  a  genealogist. 

The  advent  of  the  old  doctor,  reputed  to  be  fabulously  rich, 
and  with  no  relatives  nearer  than  themselves,  became  the  sole 
topic  of  discussion  in  most  of  the  households  of  the  city,  and 
the  occasion  of  numerous  family  councils.  Ddsir^  Minoret- 
Levrault,  the  postmaster's  son,  a  dandified  young  law-student 
of  Paris,  home  on  his  vacation,  looked  up  the  laws  on  inherit- 
ance, and  announced  that  the  law  would  probably  refuse  to 
recognize  a  will  made  by  the  old  man  in  favor  of  Ursule,  since, 
though  herself  bom  in  lawful  wedlock,  her  father  was  an  il- 
legitimate child,  and  it  was  impossible  to  prove  the  existence 
of  that  tie  of  kinship  between  testator  and  inheritor  which  the 
State,  in  defense  of  legitimate  relationship,  had  made  requisite. 
At  the  worst,  the  old  man  would  probably  bequeath  her  a  com- 
petency. There  was  one  sure  consolation,  said  the  smart  young 
legal  aspirant  to  his  mother,  Z61ie,  the  old  man  was  a  confirmed 
atheist,  and  would  leave  nothing  to  the  Church.  "Thank 
God!"  ejaculated  the  pious  woman. 

Dr.  Minoret  had  little  to  do  with  his  relatives.  He  attached 
to  himself  two  warm  friends,  the  Abbe  Chaperon  and  Monsieur 
Bongrand,  the  judge  of  the  district.  The  friends  became  as 
devoted  to  Ursule  as  was  the  doctor.  In  deference  to  the  desire 
expressed  by  her  dying  father,  Ursule's  guardian  permitted  the 


i86  URSULE  MIROUET 

Abbe  to  instruct  the  little  girl  in  the  Catholic  religion.  Under 
the  guidance  of  this  devout  man,  Ursule  became  a  pious  and 
mystical  creature,  with  whom  the  love  of  God  was  inextricably 
entwined  with  the  love  of  her  godfather.  When  she  set  out 
for  her  first  communion  in  her  pretty  white  frock,  with  her  eyes 
shining  like  stars,  she  said  to  the  admiring  old  man:  "  Wliy  are 
you  not  coming  too,  godfather?  Am  I  to  be  happy  without 
you?"  Then  it  was  that  a  secret  struggle  began  between  in- 
fidel old  age  and  devout  youth  which  was  destined  to  set  the 
town  by  the  ears. 

This  contest  culminated  in  victory  for  Ursule  through  a  very 
curious  experience  of  the  doctor's.  Since  his  retirement  to 
Nemours,  the  science  of  imponderable  agents  had  been  de- 
veloped to  account  for  the  phenomena  of  mesmerism.  The 
materialists  could  not  successfully  combat  it,  and  so  an  old 
colleague  of  Dr.  Minoret  in  his  fight  with  Mesmer  called  on 
him  to  return  to  Paris  to  confute  a  new  *' charlatan"  that  had 
arisen,  practising  the  same  cult. 

This  man,  by  the  visions  of  a  medium  whom  he  threw  into 
a  magnetic  trance,  claimed  to  be  able  to  tell  what  was  occurring 
at  a  distance,  thereby  proving  the  existence  of  a  spiritual  world 
dominated  by  higher  than  physical  laws. 

Dr.  Minoret  called  upon  this  so-called  impostor,  and  to  his 
surprise  found  him  a  man  of  noble  presence  and  great  dignity 
of  manner.  The  mesmerist  caused  his  medium  to  pass  into 
a  trance,  and  invited  his  visitor  to  test  her  clairvoyance.  The 
doctor  asked  her  what  Ursule  was  doing  at  Nemours,  and  also 
of  what  she  was  thinking. 

"She  is  marking  a  tiny  red  spot  opposite  Saint  Savinien's 
'day  in  the  calendar,  and  she  is  thinking  of  a  young  man  who 
bears  that  name,"  was  the  answer. 

"Ah,"  ejaculated  the  doctor,  "the  son  of  Madame  de  Por- 
tenduere,  our  neighbor!" 

Dr.  Minoret  was  so  agitated  that  he  left  the  room  at  once, 
and  took  stage  for  Nemours.  On  his  arrival  he  went  at  once 
to  Ursule 's  chamber,  and  looked  at  the  calendar  upon  her 
dressing-table.  There,  opposite  St.  Savinien's  day,  he  found 
a  small  red  mark.  And  this  dot,  no  larger  than  a  pin's  head, 
the  clairvoyante  had  discerned  in  spite  of  distance  and  obstacles  I 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  1^7 

The  infidel  was  forced  to  submit  to  evidence.  A  thick  wall 
within  himself,  as  it  were,  crumbled  down,  for  he  had 
founded  his  infidelity  upon  his  materialism.  Kneeling  by 
the  bedside,  where  every  night  and  morning  Ursule  prayed 
for  his  conversion,  he  lifted  up  his  soul  to  God,  beseeching 
forgiveness. 

The  next  morning  he  asked  Ursule  to  let  him  accompany 
her  to  mass. 

"My  little  godmother,"  he  said,  "at  last  you  have  brought 
me  to  God." 

Far  prouder  than  even  on  her  first  communion  was  Ursule, 
as,  arm  in  arm  with  the  old  man,  she  entered  the  house  of 
God. 

But  his  relatives  were  in  the  greatest  consternation  at  the 
sight,  and  met  in  spontaneous  conclave  to  discuss  measures  to 
keep  the  old  man's  money  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  Ursule 
and  the  Church.  Dionis,  the  notary,  presented  the  most  ac- 
ceptable plan. 

"I  should  be  likely  to  know  it  if  your  uncle  had  made  a 
will,  and  I  do  not  believe  he  has  done  so.  He  has  probably 
made  a  secret  hoard,  the  hiding-place  of  which  he  intends  to 
reveal  only  to  those  he  wishes  to  be  his  heirs.  My  advice, 
therefore,  is  that  he  should  be  induced  to  invest  his  capital  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  it  difficult  for  him  to  dispossess  you, 
his  lawful  heirs.  The  opportunity  for  such  investment  now 
offers.  Young  Portenduere,  after  cutting  quite  a  dash  in 
Parisian  society,  is  locked  up  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
of  debts.  His  old  mother  is  distracted,  and  has  invited  the 
Abbe  Chaperon  to  dinner,  to  talk  over  the  matter,  no  doubt. 
Now,  the  Abbe,  having  opened  up  to  the  old  man  an  endless 
inheritance  of  heavenly  glory,  can  undoubtedly  influence  him 
in  the  disposition  of  his  earthly  riches.  I  am  in  my  rights  as  a 
notary  in  applying  to  your  uncle  in  behalf  of  the  Portendueres, 
and,  seconded  by  the  Abbe,  I  think  I  can  persuade  him  to  lend 
the  sum  necessary  to  release  the  young  prodigal,  taking  mort- 
gages on  Madame  de  Portenduere's  farm  and  her  city  house. 
Perhaps  I  can  get  him  to  put  the  rest  of  his  money  in  other 
mortgages.  If  so,  I  will  see  that  his  capital  is  tied  up  in  this 
way  until  he  dies." 


i88  URSULE  MIROUET 

Next  day  Dionis  presented  this  proposition  to  Dr.  Minoret 
in  the  presence  of  the  cure  and  Ursule.  The  shrewd  old  man 
at  once  refused  it. 

"My  heirs  would  undoubtedly  be  glad  to  see  me  sewn  up 
in  this  fashion.  But  my  arrangements  are  unalterable.  Mon- 
sieur de  Portenduere  must  remain  in  prison  if  his  release  depends 
on  me." 

Hearing  these  words  Ursule,  with  an  inarticulate  cry,  sank 
in  her  chair,  with  her  head  lying  on  the  table.  The  doctor 
sprang  to  her  side.  "Good  evening,  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  the 
notary,  "leave  me." 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  he  asked,  after  Ursule  had  recovered 
her  senses. 

"Savinien — in  prison!"  she  cried. 

"I  did  not  know,  sweetheart,  that  you  loved  him  so  much 
already." 

"I  do  not  love  him,  godfather;  we  have  never  spoken  to 
each  other,"  she  sobbed.  "But  to  know  that  the  poor  young 
man  is  in  prison,  and  to  hear  you,  who  are  so  kind,  sternly  refuse 
to  help  him  out — " 

"Ursule,  my  sweet  Httle  woman,  if  you  do  not  love  him,  why 
have  you  put  a  red  dot  to  the  day  of  Saint  Savinien?  Come, 
confess  to  your  godfather,  whose  heart  in  these  last  few  days 
has  become  more  tender  to  you  than  ever  it  was." 

"Well,  then,  dear  godfather,  I  will  open  my  soul  to  you. 
While  you  were  in  Paris  Monsieur  de  Portenduere  came  from 
that  city  on  a  flying  visit  to  his  mother,  to  return  next  day — 
alas,  poor  unsuspecting  young  man ! — to  a  prison  they  were  pre- 
paring for  him.  In  the  morning,  as  I  opened  my  window,  I 
saw  across  the  way  Monsieur  Savinien  shaving  himself.  I  saw 
his  throat  so  white  and  round,  and  he  combed  his  imperial,  and 
twirled  his  black  mustache  with  such  grace!  Something  rose 
up  in  me  like  a  mist,  penetrating  my  bosom  with  a  delicious 
warmth,  and  setting  my  head  aswim.  I  trembled  so  that  I 
could  not  stand.  But  I  longed  to  see  him  so  much  that  I  pulled 
myself  up  on  tiptoe;  then  he  noticed  me,  and  for  fun  he  blew 
me  a  kiss  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and — " 

"And—?" 

"I  hid  myself,  ashamed  and  happy,  without  understanding 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  189 

why  I  should  be  ashamed  of  my  happiness.  He  went  away 
that  evening,  taking  my  heart  with  him." 

"My  child,"  said  the  doctor  tenderly,  "your  love  is  natural, 
and  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it.  But  there  are  many 
natural  impulses  that  in  the  unequal  conditions  of  life  we  must 
restrain.  You  must  reserve  your  love  for  your  future  husband, 
and  that  Monsieur  Savinien  can  never  be.  His  mother  would 
never  consent  that  the  son  of  Vicomte  de  Portenduere  of  the 
Royal  Navy  should  marry  the  daughter  of  a  regimental  band- 
master who  was — for  now  I  must  tell  you — the  bastard  son  of 
an  organist,  my  father-in-law." 

"Yes,  godfather,  you  are  right.  We  are  equals  only  in  the 
eyes  of  God.  I  will  think  of  him  no  more — except  in  my 
prayers.  But  give  him  all  you  have  intended  to  leave  me. 
What  can  a  poor  girl  like  me  want  of  money? — ^and  he,  in 
prison!" 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  like,  child." 

When  her  godfather  set  out  for  Paris  to  release  young  M. 
de  Portenduere,  Ursule  found  so  many  ingenious  reasons  for 
going  along  with  him  that  he  had  neither  the  wit  nor  the  heart 
to  refuse  her.  Arriving  at  the  city,  she  insisted  on  seeing  the 
prison  wherein  they  had  shut  up  the  poor  young  man. 

"My  child,"  said  the  doctor,  "this  is  not  forgetting  him." 

"Oh,"  replied  the  young  girl  naively,  "I  may  love  him  even 
if  I  do  not  marry  him." 

The  young  man  returned  to  Nemours  in  the  stage-coach 
with  the  doctor  and  Ursule.  The  young  girl  fell  asleep,  and 
her  head,  resting  on  the  old  man's  shoulder,  cushioned  by 
curls,  made  such  an  enchanting  picture  of  trusting  innocence 
that  Savinien,  contrasting  the  provincial  maiden  with  the  bold 
beauties  of  the  city  whose  coquetries  had  lured  him  into  his 
ruinous  extravagance,  fell  headlong  in  love.  Impetuous  in 
reforming  his  career  as  he  had  been  in  ruining  it,  he  vowed 
to  win  Ursule  Mirouet  as  his  wife.  Knowing  his  mother's 
aristocratic  prejudices,  he  realized  that  this  would  be  no  easy 
task. 

He  was  thoroughly  sobered  when,  on  entering  his  home, 
he  found  that  his  mother  was  not  at  the  threshold  to  greet  him. 


190 


URSULE   MIROUET 


"She  is  waiting  for  you  in  your  father's  room,"  said  Tiennette, 
the  old  servant. 

Then  Savinien  reahzed  for  the  first  time  how  deeply  his 
mother  was  affected  by  his  disgrace;  for  his  father's  room, 
which  she  kept  in  the  exact  condition  it  was  in  when  her  hus- 
band, the  naval  captain,  died  in  it,  was  her  holy  of  holies,  into 
which  she  retired  in  spiritual  crises. 

"Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  said  the  stately  woman,  rising  as 
he  entered  and  pointing  to  the  bed,  "there  your  father  died — 
a  man  of  honor.  His  spirit  is  above.  Can  you  swear  to  me, 
before  that  Shade,  and  before  God,  who  sees  all  things,  that 
your  debts  were  the  consequences  only  of  a  young  man's  follies, 
that  you  have  wronged  no  man  nor  woman — in  short,  that  your 
honor  is  unspotted?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  the  young  man  gravely. 

She  opened  her  arms  and  clasped  him  to  her  heart. 

"Then  all  is  forgotten;  we  have  lost  nothing  but  money!" 

Through  the  influence  of  his  uncle.  Admiral  de  Kergarouet, 
Savinien  secured  a  minor  appointment  in  the  navy.  Then  he 
called  upon  Dr.  Minoret,  and  told  him  of  his  new  chance  in 
life,  that  might  lead  in  time  to  his  father's  rank. 

"Monsieur,  will  you  give  your  ward  to  a  ship's  captain?" 
he  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Dr.  Minoret  with  a  smile;  "we  might  have 
to  wait  too  long,  but — to  a  ship's  lieutenant." 

In  December,  1834,  the  doctor,  now  eighty-eight  years  old, 
took  to  his  bed  from  sheer  weakness  of  age.  The  heirs  heard 
that  he  was  dying  and  trooped  to  his  house  to  take  possession 
and  prevent  anything  being  removed.  The  old  man  ordered 
them  out,  saying,  "I  want  to  be  alone  with  Ursule."  All  the 
heirs  departed  save  the  postmaster,  Minoret-Levrault,  who 
slipped  into  the  gallery  adjoining  the  sick  man's  chamber. 
He  overheard  the  old  doctor  tell  his  ward  the  location  of  a 
hidden  letter,  and  command  her  to  bring  it  to  him  when  the 
nurse  had  returned  to  relieve  her. 

The  eavesdropper  stole  away  and  secured  the  letter.  Tak- 
ing it  home  he  opened  it,  and  found  a  note  to  Ursule,  telling 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  191 

the  hiding-place  of  valuable  certificates  intended  for  her,  and 
a  will,  getting  around  the  law  that  forbade  bequests  to  illegiti- 
mate relatives  by  leaving  the  old  man's  property  to  Ursulc's 
intended  husband,  Savinien.  Striking  two  matches  that  went 
out,  and  a  third  that  lighted,  the  postmaster  burned  the  note 
and  will,  and  buried  their  ashes  and  the  wax  of  the  envelope 
in  the  cinders  on  the  hearth.  Returning  to  the  doctor's  house, 
he  found  it  in  commotion  over  the  old  man's  death.  He  had 
expired  with  dismay  on  seeing  Ursule  return  empty-handed 
from  her  errand  to  find  the  will.  In  the  confusion  the  post- 
master was  able  to  steal  the  certificates  without  detection. 

The  heirs  drove  the  hapless  ward  out  of  her  godfather's 
house,  of  which  they  took  possession.  The  postmaster,  con- 
spiring with  a  malicious  clerk  of  the  notary,  Goupil,  tried  to 
drive  her  out  of  town,  by  concocting  most  diabolical  anonymous 
letters,  telling  of  Savinien's  engagement  to  an  aristocratic  girl, 
and  by  hiring  a  band  to  serenade  her,  as  if  from  a  lover.  But 
her  father's  old  friends  stood  by  her,  and,  though  stricken  almost 
to  death  by  shame  of  the  notoriety  to  which  she  was  subjected, 
she  survived  to  triumph  over  her  detractors,  through  the  very 
condition  into  which  they  had  thrown  her.  In  this  state  of 
physical  prostration  she  became  endowed  with  clairvoyant 
powers,  and  in  a  trance  she  beheld  Dr.  Minoret  beckoning  her 
to  follow  him.  He  led  her  to  the  hiding-place  of  the  letter,  and 
showed  her  the  postmaster  stealing  it.  Following  the  thief 
home,  guided  by  her  godfather's  apparition,  she  saw  Minoret- 
Levrault  burn  the  letter  after  two  ineffectual  attempts,  and 
bury  the  wax  and  ashes  in  the  cinders.  So,  too,  she  saw  the 
postmaster  return  to  Dr.  Minoret's  house  and  steal  the 
certificates. 

Ursule  told  this  dream  to  the  Ahh6  Chaperon  and  Justice 
Bongrand.  They  confronted  the  postmaster  with  the  details 
of  his  theft.  Though  frightened,  he  maintained  a  bold  front. 
Finally  the  apparition  of  the  doctor  foretold  a  terrible  accident 
to  his  son,  which  soon  after  took  place.  Seeing  the  hand  of 
God  in  all  these  events,  at  last  he  broke  down  and  made  full 
confession  and  restitution.  A  reaction  took  place  among  the 
heirs,  and  Ursule  became  the  heroine  of  Nemours.  Madame 
de  Portenduere's  opposition  to  the  marriage  of  her  son  and 


192  URSULE   MIROUET 

Mademoiselle  Mirouet  at  last  broke  down,  and  the  young  pair 
were  wedded  upon  the  day  Savinien  received  his  commission  as 
lieutenant. 

When,  in  the  Champs-Elys6es  you  see  one  of  those  neat 
little  low  carriages,  known  as  escargots  (or  snail-shells),  drive 
past,  and  admire  a  pretty,  fair  woman  leaning  lightly  against 
a  young  man,  her  face  surrounded  by  a  myriad  of  curls,  hke 
light  foliage,  with  eyes  like  luminous  periwinkle-flowers,  full  of 
love — if  you  should  feel  the  sting  of  envious  wishes,  remember 
that  this  handsome  couple,  the  favorites  of  God,  have  paid  in 
advance  their  tribute  to  the  woes  of  life.  For  these  married 
lovers  will  undoubtedly  be  the  Vicomte  de  Portenduere  and 
his  wife.    There  are  not  two  such  couples  in  all  Paris. 


CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI  (1841) 

This  historical  romance  consists  of  three  separate  stories  of  different  lengths, 
entirely  independent  of  one  another.  The  first  part,  Le  Martyr  Calviniste,  was 
the  last  of  the  three  in  regard  to  date  of  publication.  It  first  appeared  in 
Le  Steele,  under  the  title  of  Les  Lecamus.  The  second  part  was  the  second  also 
with  regard  to  date  of  publication.  It  has  retained  its  title,  Le  Secret  de  Ruggieri. 
It  appeared  in  Le  Chronique  de  Paris  in  1836-1837.  The  third  part,  Les  Deux 
Reves,  had  appeared  in  La  Mode  as  early  as  1830;  also  as  Le  Petit  Souper  in  the 
Revue  de  deux  Mondes.  It  was  included  in  Romans  et  Contes  Philosophiques  in 
183 1.  These  three  stories,  with  an  Introduction,  were  published  in  three  volumes, 
in  1843,  under  the  title  of  Catherine  de  Medici  Expliquee;  but  when  the  work  was 
included  in  the  Etudes  Philosophiques  in  1846,  the  title  was  changed  to  Sur 
Catherine  de'  Medici.  In  his  Introduction  Balzac  says:  "In  France,  and  at  the 
most  important  period  of  our  history,  Catherine  de'  Medici  has  suffered  more 
from  popular  error  than  any  other  woman,  unless  it  be  Brunehaut  or  Fredegonde; 
while  Marie  de'  Medici,  whose  every  action  was  prejudicial  to  France,  has 
escaped  the  disgrace  that  should  cover  her  name.  .  .  .  Catherine  de'  Medici, 
on  the  contrary,  saved  the  throne  of  France;  she  maintained  the  royal  authority 
under  circumstances  to  which  more  than  one  great  prince  would  have  succumbed. 
Face  to  face  with  such  leaders  of  the  factions  and  ambitions  of  the  houses  of  Guise 
and  of  Bourbon  as  the  two  Cardinals  of  Lorraine  and  the  two  Balafres,  the  two 
Princes  de  Conde,  Queen  Jeanne  d'Albret,  Henri  IV,  the  Connetable  de  Mont- 
morency, Calvin,  the  CoUgnys,  and  Theodore  de  Beze,  she  was  forced  to  put 
forth  the  rarest  fine  quahties,  the  most  essential  gifts  of  statesmanship,  under  the 
fire  of  the  Calvinist  press.  These,  at  any  rate,  are  indisputable  facts;  and  to  the 
student  who  digs  deep  into  the  history  of  the  sixteenth  century  in  France,  the 
figure  of  Catherine  de'  Medici  stands  out  as  that  of  a  great  king." 

PART  I 


ceived 
one  of 


THE  CALVINIST  MARTYR 

N  the  bank  of  the  Seine,  at  the  end  of  the  Pont 
au  Change,  Uved  Master  Lecamus,  furrier  to 
Catherine  de'  Medici  and  Mary  Stuart.  He 
was  very  wealthy  and  the  head  of  his  guild.  He 
was  secretly  in  sympathy  with  the  new  religious 
teaching  that  was  setting  Paris  by  the  ears,  as 
was  also  his  son,  Christophe,  an  ardent  youth  of 
two-and-twenty. 

One  evening  in  April,  1560,  the  latter  re- 
a  visit  from  a  man  who  announced  himself  as  Chaudieu, 
the  most  famous  ministers  and  heroic  actors  in  the  ter- 


A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 13 


193 


194  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

rible  drama  about  to  open.  He  led  Christophe  down  to  a 
boat,  containing  two  men,  which  was  rowed  under  one  of  the 
arches  of  the  bridge.  There  the  occupants  could  talk  without 
being  overheard.  The  two  strangers  were  La  Renaudie  and 
the  Prince  de  Conde.  The  four  men  were  representative  of 
the  faith  of  the  people,  the  intellect  of  eloquence,  the  arm  of  the 
soldier,  and  royalty  cast  into  the  shade. 

Christophe  declared  that  he  was  ready  to  suffer  all  things 
for  the  holy  cause,  and  the  plans  of  the  conspirators  were  re- 
vealed to  him.  He  was  told  that  most  of  the  nobles  of  the 
kingdom  saw  through  the  schemes  of  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine 
and  his  brother,  the  Due  de  Guise,  who,  under  pretense  of 
defending  the  Catholic  faith,  claimed  the  Crown  of  France  as 
the  inheritance  of  the  House  of  Lorraine.  "It  leans  on  the 
Church,  and  has  made  it  a  formidable  ally;  the  monks  are  its 
supporters,  its  acolytes  and  spies.  It  asserts  itself  as  a  pro- 
tector of  the  throne  it  hopes  to  usurp,  of  the  Valois  it  hopes  to 
destroy."  Therefore,  the  reformers  had  decided  to  rise  in 
arms,  because  the  liberties  of  the  people  were  threatened,  as 
well  as  the  interests  of  the  nobility.  "The  Queen  Mother  is 
ready  to  enter  into  our  views.  Humiliated  and  desperate  as 
she  is  at  seeing  the  power  she  had  hoped  to  wield  at  the  King's 
death  in  the  grasp  of  the  Guises,  and  alarmed  at  the  influence 
exerted  by  the  young  Queen  Mary,  Queen  Catherine  will  be 
inclined  to  support  the  nobles  who  are  about  to  strike  a  blow. 
Though  apparently  devoted  to  the  Guises,  she  hates  them, 
longs  for  their  ruin,  and  will  make  use  of  us  to  oppose  them. 
.  .  .  Everything  is  ready;  and  we  have  cast  our  eyes  on  you 
to  communicate  to  Queen  Catherine  our  treaty  of  alliance,  our 
schemes  for  edicts,  and  the  basis  of  the  new  rule." 

Though  Catherine  was  under  close  espionage,  it  would  be 
possible  for  the  son  of  the  court  furrier  to  deliver  some  gar- 
ment and  the  papers  at  the  same  time.  He  was  given  to  under- 
stand, however,  that  should  he  be  taken,  he  would  be  abandoned 
by  everybody,  and  opprobrium  and  disgrace  would  be  cast 
upon  him.  Entire  self-sacrifice  was  demanded  of  him,  and 
he  gladly  consented.  Instructions  were  given  as  to  the  way 
to  reach  Blois,  and  he  was  landed  at  the  back  door  of  his 
father's  house. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  195 

The  Syndic  of  the  Guild  of  Furriers  was  a  cunning  and 
clear-sighted  man  of  vast  ambitions.  He  had  amassed  an  im- 
mense fortune  and  planned  a  splendid  future  for  his  son.  He 
longed  to  place  the  house  of  Lecamus  on  a  par  with  the  oldest 
and  most  honored  families  of  Paris  citizens.  He  had  engaged 
his  son  to  Babette  Lallier,  the  daughter  of  the  rich  Syndic  of 
the  Goldsmiths,  and  was  ambitious  to  see  his  son  a  Councilor 
of  the  Parliament.  He  had  spied  on  Christophe;  and,  on  the 
latter's  entrance,  encouraged  him  on  his  perilous  quest.  He 
concluded  that  his  schemes  would  not  suffer  by  Christophe's 
being  of  service  to  Queen  Catherine. 

Catherine's  position  when  Diane  de  Poitiers  ruled  Henri 
II  had  been  more  endurable  than  now:  at  least,  she  had  en- 
joyed the  homage  and  respect  of  the  court;  but  now  she  was 
practically  a  prisoner  at  Blois,  and  her  Guise  jailers  took 
pleasure  in  humiliating  her.  Every  hour  she  was  the  object 
of  blows  offensive  to  her  dignity.  She  was,  therefore,  ready  to 
make  use  of  any  party  that  would  help  her  to  destroy  the  Guises : 
the  tools  she  would  throw  away  later.  Her  game  was  to  play 
off  the  Huguenots,  the  Bourbons,  and  the  Guises  against  one 
another. 

On  the  day  when  Christophe  reached  Blois,  the  two 
Princes  of  Guise  were  on  the  eve  of  striking  a  fatal  blow 
at  the  heart  of  the  nobility,  of  whose  plans  their  spies  had 
informed  them,  and  were  discussing  the  means  of  announcing 
their  coup  d'etat  to  the  King.  They  knew  that  their  niece, 
Mary,  would  approve  of  extinguishing  heresy  with  a  single 
blow. 

After  much  trouble,  Christophe  succeeded  in  placing  the 
compromising  documents  in  Catherine's  hands;  but  before 
she  could  conceal  them,  Mary  Stuart,  who  regarded  her  mother- 
in-law  as  a  low-born  intriguing  adventuress,  and  one  who 
having  been  humbled  was  always  prepared  for  revenge,  kept 
a  close  watch  on  her.  Her  suspicions  being  aroused  by  Cath- 
erine's absence  from  the  council,  she  broke  in  on  her  mother- 
in-law's  privacy.  Catherine  immediately  cried:  "Treason, 
Madame!  I  have  them  fast!  Send  for  the  Cardinal  and  the 
Duke,  and  be  sure  that  this  fellow  does  not  escape!"  Pleased 
at  finding  her  adversaries  in  the  mind  she  had  hoped  for,  now 


196  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

that  the  plot  had  become  known,  poHcy  required  her  to  assume 
the  merit  of  discovering  it. 

On  being  asked  who  had  sent  him,  Christophe  said  Chau- 
dieu,  the  preacher,  had,  and  even  under  horrible  torture  could 
not  be  induced  to  implicate  the  Prince  de  Cond^,  whose  head 
the  Guises  were  so  anxious  should  fall.  Even  in  his  worst 
agonies  from  the  "boot,"  he  denied  that  he  had  ever  seen  that 
Prince.  The  Duke  exhorted  him  in  vain  to  confess,  and  he 
could  hear  Catherine  say:  "Go  on;  after  all,  he  is  only  a  here- 
tic!" She  thought  it  prudent  to  appear  more  severe  to  her 
accomplice  than  his  executioners  were.  The  whole  future  of 
this  ambitious  woman  depended  on  her  demeanor,  so  she 
gazed  on  Christophe's  sufferings  calmly,  although  she  felt  the 
greatest  admiration  for  his  fortitude. 

The  Princes  of  Lorraine  transferred  the  court  to  Amboise. 
At  this  moment,  the  crown,  the  council,  the  court,  and  every 
kind  of  power  were  in  their  hands.  The  first  rush  to  arms 
had  ended  in  the  brief  skirmish  in  which  the  flower  of  the 
nobility  whom  Calvin  had  misled  all  perished.  This  affair 
the  Guises,  with  crafty  policy,  spoke  of  as  the  riots  at  Amboise. 
The  Prince  de  Cond^  now  showed  astuteness  and  spirit.  He 
boldly  went  to  Amboise,  where  he  was  immediately  arrested. 
Chicot,  the  jester,  visited  him  with  a  message  from  the  Queen 
Mother  that  nothing  but  daring  could  get  him  out  of  the  scrape. 
On  being  conducted  to  the  court,  Catherine  sternly  accused 
him  of  plotting  with  the  reformers.  Thereupon  Cond^  flung 
his  glove  at  the  King's  feet,  angrily  challenging  his  calunmiator 
to  stand  forth.  The  Due  de  Guise  unexpectedly  stepped  for- 
ward and  offered  to  be  his  second,  with  the  crafty  intention  of 
watching  his  behavior  at  the  execution  of  his  rebel  friends. 

The  King's  victory  over  the  heretics,  together  with  the  ex- 
ecution to  be  inflicted,  was  announced  from  every  pulpit,  and 
the  auto-da-je  attracted  vast  multitudes.  Lecamus  had  hurried 
to  Blois  on  hearing  of  his  son's  danger;  but  could  only  learn 
that  after  torture  he  had  been  removed  to  Amboise.  He  was, 
therefore,  an  agitated  spectator  of  the  hideous  spectacle.  Fifty 
gentlemen  in  all  ascended  the  scaffold,  including  twenty-seven 
barons,  eleven  counts,  and  seven  marquises.  They  all  refused 
to  recant,  and  sang  their  Calvinistic  hymn  on  the  appearance  of 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  197 

the  court.  They  bowed  to  Condd,  who  was  purposely  placed 
between  Queen  Mary  and  the  Due  d'Orldans.  He  returned 
their  salutations,  and  maintained  his  nerve  throughout  the 
horrible  massacre.  The  next  day  he  was  released  and  set  out 
for  Navarre. 

Lecamus,  not  seeing  Christophe  among  the  victims,  dressed 
as  a  beggar  and  put  himself  in  the  way  of  Catherine  as  she 
passed,  who  told  him  to  get  himself  appointed  delegate  to  the 
States  General  from  the  Corporation  of  Paris  Guilds. 

The  Guises  had  convoked  the  States  General  at  Orleans  in 
the  hope  of  recapturing  their  prey  and  overthrowing  the  House 
of  Bourbon.  The  Princes  of  the  blood  arrived  there  under 
the  King's  safe  conduct.  Cond6  was  treacherously  arrested, 
and  tried  by  the  magistrates,  notwithstanding  his  demand  to 
be  tried  by  his  peers.  The  King  of  Navarre  was  left  at  liberty, 
temporarily. 

Lecamus  arrived  at  Orleans  and  learned  from  Ruggieri, 
Catherine's  astrologer,  that  Christophe  was  to  be  placed  on  the 
morrow  where  the  Prince  would  pass  by.  If  either  made  a 
sign  of  recognition,  Condi's  head  would  be  forfeited.  The 
astrologer  predicted  that  the  Due  de  Guise  would  be  killed 
within  a  year,  but  that  neither  Christophe  nor  Conde  was  des- 
tined to  die.  Catherine  relied  on  Christophe's  fidelity,  and 
Lecamus  was  advised  to  vote  for  her  as  Regent.  Ruggieri 
concluded:  "The  King  will  die;  if  he  recovers  his  health,  the 
Guises  must  triumph,  the  Princes  are  dead  men,  the  House  of 
Bourbon  is  extinct,  we  go  back  to  Florence,  your  son  is  hanged, 
and  the  Guises  will  make  short  work  of  the  royal  family." 

At  this  juncture,  Catherine's  position  was  even  more  critical 
and  dangerous  than  at  Amboise.  Though  she  pretended  to 
be  in  agreement  with  the  Guises,  she  was  plotting  against  them. 
They  had  planned  with  the  King  of  Spain  to  seize  Beam,  and 
Catherine  had  warned  the  Queen  of  Navarre  in  time.  She  had 
also  divulged  the  intention  to  make  away  with  the  King  of 
Navarre,  and  the  Cardinal  had  denounced  her  in  the  King's 
presence  and  threatened  her  with  banishment.  Catherine 
immediately  warned  the  Constable  Anne  de  Montmorency  of 
the  danger  his  nephew,  Conde,  was  in,  and  he  at  once  gathered 
a  force  to  save  him. 


1 98  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

Francis  II  took  an  excursion  on  the  Loire,  so  as  to  be  absent 
at  Conde's  intended  execution;  and  there  caught  a  cold,  which 
gave  him  so  violent  an  earache  that  he  was  forced  to  return. 
The  physicians  disagreed;  but  Ambroise  Pare,  the  greatest 
surgeon  of  the  sixteenth  century,  maintained  that  the  King 
had  an  abscess  on  the  brain  and  should  be  trepanned.  Le- 
camus  explained  the  situation  to  Pare  in  a  midnight  interview 
in  the  following  terms:  "If  you  save  the  King,  you  ruin  France. 
Do  you  know  that  your  instrument  will  place  the  crown  of  the 
Valois  on  the  head  of  a  Prince  of  Lorraine  calling  himself  the 
direct  heir  of  Charlemagne?  Do  you  know  that  surgery  and 
politics  are  at  this  moment  at  daggers  drawn  ?  Yes,  the  triumph 
of  your  genius  will  be  the  overthrow  of  your  religion.  If  the 
Guises  retain  the  regency,  the  blood  of  the  Reformers  will  flow 
in  streams.  Be  a  great  citizen  rather  than  a  great  surgeon." 
But  Pare  refused  to  be  influenced.  Ruggieri,  who  learned 
from  Lecamus  the  nature  of  Pare's  intended  operation,  imme- 
diately hastened  to  the  Queen  Mother.  In  the  morning,  when 
Catherine  and  Mary  and  the  Guises  and  the  doctors  and  the 
physicians  and  attendants  were  gathered  in  the  King's  bed- 
chamber, everyone  realized  that  a  terrible  crisis  was  at  hand. 
Catherine  strenuously  opposed  a  cruel  operation,  and  the  Duke 
accused  her  of  desiring  her  son's  death.  When  the  discussion 
was  at  its  height,  the  Constable  hastily  entered,  and  forbade 
the  operation,  because  the  first  Prince  of  the  blood,  the  Prince 
de  Conde,  the  Queen  Mother,  and  the  Chancellor  were  all 
opposed  to  it.  As  Lord  High  Constable  he  had  dismissed  all 
the  sentinels  from  their  posts,  leaving  the  States  General  to 
deliberate  in  perfect  liberty,  laying  before  it  the  protest  of  his 
nephew,  whom  he  had  rescued  from  prison.  He  accused  the 
Guises  of  meaning  to  let  the  royal  blood  and  decimating  the 
French  nobility,  and  he  defied  them  to  oppose  him. 

Within  a  few  minutes  Francis  died.  Mary  Stuart  accused 
Catherine  of  being  his  murderess,  and  Catherine  retorted 
with  a  sentence  of  deportation  to  Scotland  the  next  day.  On 
Catherine's  withdrawal,  the  Guises  discussed  their  fall  and 
fortunes. 

"How  can  we  be  reconciled  to  the  Queen?"  asked  the 
Cardinal. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  199 

"Wait  till  she  quarrels  with  the  Huguenots,"  said  the 
Duchess  of  Guise. 

Catherine's  next  step  was  to  gain  over  the  Reformers  by 
summoning  a  convocation,  for  which  Calvin's  favor  and  consent 
were  necessary.  Chaudieu  was,  therefore,  sent  to  Geneva. 
Catherine  thus  gained  a  breathing-space  of  six  months,  during 
which  she  amused  the  court,  lulled  party  feeling  by  the  King's 
coronation,  and  his  first  Bed  of  Justice,  when  Charles  IX  en- 
trusted the  government  to  his  mother. 

Calvin  was  in  a  dying  condition,  and  his  final  decision  was 
as  follows:  "Nobody,  neither  the  Queen,  nor  the  Guises,  nor 
I,  wants  pacification:  it  would  not  suit  our  purpose.  We  must 
compel  the  King  of  Navarre  to  join  the  Guises  and  the  Con- 
stable, by  advising  him  to  desert  Queen  Catherine.  Let  us 
take  full  advantage  of  his  weakness :  he  is  but  a  poor  creature. 
If  he  prove  a  turncoat  to  the  Italian  woman,  she,  finding  her- 
self bereft  of  his  support,  must  inevitably  join  Conde  and 
Coligny.  Such  a  maneuver  may  possibly  compromise  her  so 
effectually  that  she  must  remain  on  our  side."  He  ended: 
"Ideas  can  never  grow  till  they  are  watered  with  blood.  The 
murder  of  the  Due  de  Guise  would  give  rise  to  a  fearful  per- 
secution and  I  hope  for  it  with  all  my  might.  To  us,  reverses 
are  more  favorable  than  success.  The  Reformation  can  be 
beaten  and  endure,  do  you  hear,  oaf?  Whereas  Catholicism  is 
overthrown  if  we  win  a  single  battle." 

These  words  were  spoken  to  Theodore  de  Beze,  Chaudieu's 
companion.  Eighteen  months  later,  Poltrot,  who  fired  a  pistol 
at  the  Duke,  confessed  that  he  had  been  urged  to  the  crime  by 
De  Beze.  On  the  day  when  Chaudieu  and  De  Beze  reached 
Paris,  the  court  returned  from  Rheims,  where  Charles  IX  had 
been  crowned.  Catherine  had  made  the  coronation  unusually 
splendid,  and  the  occasion  of  great  festivities,  which  enabled 
her  to  gather  around  her  the  leaders  of  every  faction.  She 
fully  understood  that,  sooner  or  later,  she  must  fall  back  on 
the  Constable  Montmorency  and  the  Guises  to  fight  the  Hugue- 
nots. The  convocation,  which  served  to  flatter  the  vanity  of 
the  orators  on  each  side,  and  as  an  excuse  for  another  imposing 
ceremony  to  clear  the  blood-stained  field  for  the  religious  war 
that  had  indeed  already  begun,  was  as  futile  in  the  eyes  of  the 


200  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

Guises  as  it  was  in  Catherine's.  Catherine  flattered  the  Car- 
dinal de  Lorraine  into  the  hope  of  conquering  the  heretics  by 
the  eloquence  of  the  Princes  of  the  Church,  and  the  Cardinal 
won  over  the  Duke. 

Catherine  next  had  trouble  with  her  son,  who  was  so  attached 
to  his  tutor,  Amyot,  that  he  made  him  High  Almoner  of  France 
without  consulting  his  mother.  In  a  rage,  Catherine  sent  for 
Amyot  and  threatened  him  with  death  unless  he  induced  his 
pupil  to  change  his  mind.  Charles  IX  went  immediately  to 
his  mother  and  said:  "Madame,  did  I  not  comply  with  your 
wishes  and  sign  the  letter  you  asked  of  me  for  the  Parliament, 
by  virtue  of  which  you  govern  my  kingdom?  Did  you  not 
promise  me,  when  you  laid  it  before  me,  that  my  will  should 
be  yours?  And  now  the  only  favor  I  have  cared  to  bestow  ex- 
cites your  jealousy.  The  Chancellor  talks  of  making  me  of 
age  at  fourteen,  three  years  hence,  and  you  treat  me  as  a  child. 
By  God,  I  mean  to  be  King!" 

Catherine  was  shocked  at  his  tone  and  tried  to  explain  to 
him  the  difficulties  and  perils  of  kingcraft;  but  she  had  to 
restore  his  favorite  to  the  office  of  High  Almoner.  She  then 
supplied  Charles  with  a  tutor  in  Albert  de  Gondi,  whom  she 
made  a  marshal  of  France  and  a  duke.  This  Italian  gave  her 
the  following  advice:  "You  let  the  late  King  die  to  save  your 
other  children;  well,  then,  do  as  the  grand  seignors  of  Con- 
stantinople do:  crush  this  one's  political  passions  and  fancies. 
He  likes  the  arts,  poetry,  hunting,  and  a  little  girl  he  saw  at 
Orleans;  all  this  is  quite  enough  to  occupy  him." 

On  the  return  of  the  Geneva  envoys,  the  convocation  of 
Poissy  was  arranged  for,  and  on  taking  leave  of  De  Beze,  Chau- 
dieu  whispered:  "I  have  saints  in  Paris  that  I  can  rely  on,  and 
I  mean  to  make  a  prophet  of  Calvin.  Christophe  will  rid  us 
of  our  most  dangerous  enemy." 

Meanwhile,  the  Queen  Mother  had  succeeded  in  having 
Condi's  trial  quashed,  and  he  was  reinstated  in  all  his  rights, 
possessions,  and  honors.  Christophe  was  released  in  the  same 
proceedings,  and,  as  a  compensation  for  his  sufferings,  was 
made  a  pleader  by  De  Thou.  On  his  return  to  Paris,  he  was 
tenderly  nursed  by  his  family  and  Babette,  and  the  furrier's 
neighbors  were  astonished  to  see  him  attended  by  Par^,  the 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  2or 

court  physician.  Old  Lccamus  gradually  worked  on  his  son's 
heretical  mind  by  recalling  the  sufferings  he  had  gone  through 
and  pointing  out  the  danger  of  meddling  with  political  reform. 
Babette  also  told  him  that  her  father  would  never  allow  her  to 
marry  a  heretic.  One  day  his  father  told  him  that  he  had 
written  in  Christophe's  name  to  Cond^  and  Queen  Jeanne  for 
permission  to  purchase  a  legal  business  in  Bdam.  In  reply, 
Conde's  secretary  merely  offered  a  place  of  a  man-at-arms  in 
his  own  company.  This  for  a  man  who  would  hardly  be  able 
to  stand  on  his  legs  for  the  rest  of  his  life ! 

The  mortified  Christophe,  however,  felt  confident  that 
Catherine  would  be  more  grateful. 

Soon  after  this,  Chaudieu  called  and  reproached  him  for 
his  apostasy,  and  did  his  utmost  to  win  Christophe  back  to 
Calvinism  and  to  persuade  him  to  assassinate  the  Due  de  Guise 
— but  in  vain. 

Not  long  after  the  Syndic  of  the  Goldsmiths  spent  half  a 
million  livres  for  a  fine  estate  in  Picardy  belonging  to  the 
Crown;  and  one  evening,  when  Christophe  and  Babette  were 
to  be  betrothed,  Catherine  and  Charles  IX  unexpectedly  ar- 
rived to  grace  the  occasion  and  to  sign  the  marriage  contract 
on  condition  that  Christophe  should  remain  a  Catholic.  As  a 
present  the  King  and  Catherine  permitted  the  purchase  of  the 
offices  and  appointments  of  Groslay,  Councilor  of  the  Parlia- 
ment, who  accompanied  their  Majesties.  The  King  remitted 
all  royal  fines  and  fees  of  the  Picardy  estate  as  a  wedding-gift 
to  the  bride.  Old  Lecamus  was  shrewd  enough  to  offer  the 
King  a  splendid  silver  cup  by  Benvenuto  Cellini,  which  was 
graciously  accepted,  and  the  Queen  presented  Babette  with  a 
diamond  ring.  Before  leaving,  Christophe  managed  to  inform 
Catherine  of  the  Due  de  Guise's  danger,  and  received  her  re- 
newed thanks. 

This  was  the  origin  of  the  famous  Lecamus  family  of  law- 
yers, who  were  particularly  celebrated  and  magnificent  during 
the  seventeenth  century. 


202  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

PART  II 

THE  RUGGEERIS'   SECRET 

One  evening,  toward  the  end  of  October,  1573,  the  court 
was  in  attendance  after  supper  on  the  two  Queens  and  the 
King.  Queen  EHzabeth  of  Austria  and  her  mother-in-law, 
Catherine  de'  Medici,  were  seated  on  one  side  of  the  great  fire- 
place, and  in  the  other  corner,  sunk  lethargically  after  hunting, 
or  sulking,  sat  Charles  IX  in  his  big  armchair.  Of  all  the  dull 
assembly  the  two  Gondis  alone  were  laughing.  Albert,  who 
had  come  with  Catherine  from  Italy  and  had  been  made  Due  de 
Retz  and  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  and  had  obtained  a 
marshal's  baton  without  ever  having  commanded  an  army, 
had  also  been  sent  as  the  King's  proxy  to  marry  Charles's 
bride  at  Spires.  This  fact  alone  showed  that  he  was  one  of 
the  few  persons  whom  the  King  and  Queen  admitted  to  a  cer- 
tain familiarity.  On  the  King's  side  of  the  room,  among  the 
courtiers,  the  most  conspicuous  were  the  old  Cardinal  de  Lor- 
raine and  his  nephew,  the  young  Due  de  Guise.  These  two 
chiefs  of  the  Holy  Alliance  looked  as  submissive  as  servants 
awaiting  their  opportunity  to  become  masters,  Catherine  and 
her  son  were  watching  each  other  like  two  cats. 

Each  of  the  three  royal  personages  had  reason  for  gloomy 
reflection.  The  young  Queen  was  enduring  all  the  torments 
of  jealousy,  and  disguised  them  ineffectually  by  trying  to  smile 
at  her  husband,  whom,  as  a  pious  woman  of  infinite  kindness, 
she  adored.  Marie  Touchet,  the  only  mistress  of  Charles  IX, 
for  whom  he  entirely  neglected  his  gentle  wife,  had  lately  re- 
turned from  Fayet  in  Dauphine,  bringing  with  her  the  only  son 
Charles  IX  ever  had — Charles,  afterward  Due  d'Angouleme. 
Another  trouble  was  that  Catherine,  who,  hitherto,  had  appar- 
ently been  her  friend,  had  lately  encouraged  her  son's  infidelity. 

The  reason  of  this  was  that  Marie  preferred  happiness  to 
splendor,  and  dearly  loved  the  King  for  his  own  sake.  She 
was  ignorant  of  the  ambitious  objects  aimed  at  by  the  women 
of  family  who  were  struggling  for  the  advancement  of  them- 
selves and  their  relatives  with  the  weapons  of  love.  The  in- 
significant Marie  Touchet  spared  Catherine  the  annoyance  of 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  203 

finding  in  her  son's  mistress  the  daughter  of  some  great  house 
who  might  have  set  up  as  her  rival.  She  had  tasted  that  cup 
of  bitterness  during  the  sway  of  Diane  de  Poitiers.  The  gentle 
Marie,  therefore,  won  her  warm  affection,  and  later  Catherine 
left  the  son  her  personal  estate.  Marie,  who  asked  for  nothing, 
had  already  received  from  Catherine  the  manor  of  Belleville, 
near  Vincennes,  in  which  royal  residence  Charles  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  later  days,  hunting  in  the  surrounding  forest. 

Anything  that  kept  the  King  interested  outside  of  politics 
was  pleasing  to  Catherine.  She  had  been  watching  the  King 
because  during  supper  he  had  been  suspiciously  cheerful,  a 
mood  strongly  in  contrast  to  the  fractious  humor  he  had  be- 
trayed by  his  persistent  hunting  and  by  his  frenzied  toil  at  his 
forge,  where  he  wrought  iron.  Catherine  was  satisfied  that  some 
scheme  against  herself  was  in  the  wind,  and  the  unexpected 
appearance  of  the  Marechal  de  Tavannes  on  business  had 
greatly  strengthened  her  suspicions. 

Two  words — dominion  and  astrology — fully  summarize  this 
strange  woman.  She  had  no  passion  but  for  power,  and  her 
only  sincere  belief  was  in  the  occult  sciences.  To  Cosmo 
Ruggieri,  her  astrologer,  she  clung  more  than  to  her  children. 
She  housed  him  and  made  him  her  chief  adviser.  Her  trust 
seemed  to  be  justified  by  the  horoscopes  he  had  cast  and  the 
events  he  had  correctly  predicted.  From  her  earliest  years, 
the  events  of  her  life  had  justified  the  horoscope.  Catherine's 
devouring  thirst  for  dominion  was  so  great  that,  in  order  to 
grasp  or  retain  it,  she  could  ally  herself  with  the  enemies  of  the 
throne;  and  to  keep  the  reins  of  power  in  her  own  hands  she 
would  sacrifice  her  friends  and  even  her  children.  She  could 
not  live  without  the  intrigues  of  rule,  and,  though  a  Medici, 
even  the  Calvinists  never  accused  her  of  having  a  lover.  She 
upheld  by  turns  the  Guises  and  the  Calvinists;  then,  after 
using  the  two  creeds  to  check  each  other  in  the  heart  of  the 
people,  she  set  the  Due  d'Anjou  against  his  brother,  Charles 
IX.  After  instilling  into  the  King's  mind  a  jealousy  of  his 
brother,  she  worked  upon  this  feeling  so  as  to  exhaust  Charles's 
really  fine  qualities  in  the  intrigues  of  rivalry  with  his  brother. 
When  the  Due  d'Anjou  went  to  govern  Poland,  he  robbed  her 
of  the  means  of  keeping  the  mind  of  Charles  IX  occupied  with 


204  CATHERINE   DE'   MEDICI 

domestic  intrigues.  Catherine  then  hatched  the  La  Mole  and 
Coconnas  conspiracy,  in  which  her  fourth  son  had  a  hand. 
This  plot,  now  ripening,  aimed  to  put  the  young  Duke  and  his 
brother-in-law,  the  King  of  Navarre,  at  the  head  of  the  Cal- 
vinists,  seizing  and  imprisoning  the  heirless  Charles  IX,  thus 
leaving  the  throne  vacant  for  the  Duke,  who  purposed  estab- 
lishing Calvinism  in  France. 

La  Mole  and  Coconnas  had  now  been  in  prison  for  fifty 
days,  and  were  to  be  beheaded  in  the  following  April.  Cosmo 
Ruggicri's  participation  in  the  affair  shows  that  Catherine 
secretly  directed  it.  Cosmo  admitted  that  he  had  furnished 
La  Mole  with  an  image  representing  the  King  stabbed  to  the 
heart  with  two  needles.  This  kind  of  witchcraft  was  a  capital 
crime,  and  Charles's  death  alone  saved  Ruggieri  from  the 
King's  vengeance. 

At  this  moment,  Charles  was  only  anxious  to  shake  off  his 
mother's  yoke.  He  watched  her  proceedings  and  kept  her  in 
ignorance  of  his  own,  with  much  of  her  own  craft.  He  was 
trying  by  cunning  measures  to  seize  the  reins  of  government. 

The  secret  of  the  drama  that  was  being  played  was  guessed 
by  some  of  their  followers,  especially  the  Italians. 

Charles  IX  was  worn  out.  He  was  in  the  last  stages  of  the 
illness  of  which  he  died,  and  Ambroise  Pard  and  Jean  Chape- 
lain  had  been  sent  for  secretly  to  observe  him.  Before  leaving 
the  room,  the  King  exchanged  a  few  confidential  words  with 
Tavannes.  The  Mar^chal  de  Retz  remarked  that  he  looked 
royally  bored,  and  Charles  acknowledged  that  he  missed  the 
good  old  days  when  they  used  to  go  gadding  about  at  night, 
jumping  across  the  narrow  streets  from  roof  to  roof,  breaking 
in  shutters,  beating  watchmen,  and  generally  annoying  and 
maltreating  respectable  citizens.  A  party  was  therefore  made 
up  to  go  night-hawking  once  more. 

The  two  Gondis  soon  fell  behind  the  others  to  discuss  the 
dangerous  trend  of  events,  while  Charles  and  two  others  went 
on  till  they  came  to  the  house  of  Ren^,  the  court  perfumer, 
who  was  credited  with  having  invented  the  famous  elixir  a 
succession,  and  had  poisoned  the  mother  of  Henri  IV.  Charles 
had  long  been  anxious  to  explore  the  laboratory  in  which  Rene 
was  often  visited  by  Ruggieri.     When,  therefore,  he  saw  a 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  205 

light  in  a  window  on  the  roof,  he  crawled  along  the  parapet  and 
peeped  in.  He  saw  a  large  room  lighted  by  a  big  lamj),  and 
the  ceiling  was  rendered  invisible  by  the  numbers  of  hanging 
animals,  skeletons,  and  dried  herbs;  the  room  was  filled  with 
books,  retorts,  chests  full  of  instruments  for  magic  and  astrology, 
and  diagrams  for  horoscopes,  vials,  and  wax  figures.  There 
were  also  two  lighted  stoves  on  which  heretical  mixtures  were 
brewing;  besides  a  large  table  and  a  couch.  Seated  at  the 
table  was  a  patriarchal  old  man  with  a  magnificent  beard  and 
dressed  in  black  velvet.  His  attention  was  divided  between  a 
manuscript  before  him  and  the  concoctions  on  the  stove.  On 
the  couch  lay  a  beautiful  girl  in  a  trancelike  sleep.  As  the 
King  and  Tavannes  gazed  spellbound  upon  the  scene,  the  old 
man  arose  and  left  the  room,  and  opened  a  window  from  which 
a  view  could  be  had  of  the  column  which  Catherine  had  built 
for  Cosmo  Ruggieri.  They  saw  light  signals  exchanged  and 
could  perceive  Cosmo  on  the  top  of  the  column.  In  a  few 
minutes  Cosmo  came  in  saying:  "Good  evening,  brother." 
He  brought  with  him  a  hideous,  toothless,  hunchbacked, 
crooked,  lame,  wrinkled  old  hag,  who  stank  of  devilry  and  the 
stake.  She  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  girl.  Though  Cosmo 
could  not  see  the  spies,  he  went  up  to  the  girl  and  took  her 
hand,  saying,  "Someone  is  near;  who  is  it?"  "The  King," 
said  she.  Thereupon,  the  King  knocked  at  the  window,  which 
Ruggieri  opened  and  the  two  jumped  into  the  wizard's  kitchen. 
There  the  King  demanded  an  explanation,  and  threatened  the 
astrologers  with  condign  punishment  unless  they  confessed  the 
meaning  of  it  all.  They  would  not  give  the  King  any  satis- 
faction, so  he  and  Tavannes  set  seals  on  the  doors  and  sent  the 
two  witches  to  Rene's  room,  where  he  and  they  were  guarded 
by  soldiers.  The  two  astrologers  Charles  had  taken  to  the 
house  of  his  mistress,  and  left  them  there  under  guard  till  the 
next  day. 

Charles  had  more  work  to  do  that  night.  Accompanied  by 
one  faithful  follower,  he  crossed  the  Seine  and  hurried  toward 
the  Pre-au-Clercs.  There  he  held  a  conference  with  some  high 
nobles,  whose  friendliest  advice  was  that  Madame  Catherine 
should  be  sewn  up  in  a  sack  and  thrown  into  the  river.  Charles 
told  them  plainly  that  he  had  decided  that  the  time  had  come 


2o6  CATHERINE    DE'   MEDICI 

for  the  royal  authority  to  assert  itself.  He  appealed  to  them 
for  their  support  in  putting  an  end  to  the  troubles  of  the  realm, 
and  gave  them  a  month  in  which  to  make  up  their  minds.  It 
was  four  o'clock  before  he  reached  the  Louvre.  He  retired  to 
his  workshop  and  went  to  work  at  his  anvil.  At  dawn,  Catherine 
entered  and  warned  him  of  a  plot  in  which  his  brother  D'Alenjon 
was  implicated  with  the  King  of  Navarre  and  Conde  to  snatch 
the  Crown  by  seizing  his  person.  After  a  long  discussion,  she 
left  him  in  perplexity,  asking  himself,  "  On  which  side  are  the 
snares?  What  is  the  better  policy?"  and  calling  on  the  Al- 
mighty to  give  him  the  clearness  of  vision  to  see  into  his  mother's 
eyes  by  questioning  the  Ruggieri. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Charles  made  his  way  to  the  charm- 
ing mansion  inhabited  by  Marie  Touchet.  He  found  her  as 
gentle,  loving,  and  fascinating  as  ever.  She  did  her  best  to 
soothe  his  troubled  spirit,  and  before  long  he  was  tenderly 
dandling  their  infant  in  his  arms.  Presently  Marie  asked  him 
why  he  had  left  assassins  in  her  keeping,  and  he  related  his 
adventures  of  the  night  before.  When  Marie  expressed  a 
desire  to  see  the  mysterious  sages,  he  sent  for  them  and  examined 
them  in  her  presence.  Both  the  Ruggieri  deported  themselves 
with  extreme  dignity  and  assurance.  Lorenzo  took  the  lead  in 
the  discussion,  which  soon  developed  into  a  lecture  on  alchemy, 
astrology,  chemistry,  and  the  other  occult  sciences. 

Notwithstanding  his  desire  to  avoid  being  entrapped  by 
Florentine  cunning,  the  King,  as  well  as  his  simple-minded 
mistress,  was  soon  caught  and  carried  away  by  the  rhetoric 
and  rodomontade  of  the  Grand  Master  of  Adepts'  pompous 
and  specious  flow  of  words;  but  Charles  was  anxious  to  learn 
some  of  the  secrets  and  practise  of  poisons  and  poisoning,  wax 
images,  and  other  forms  of  witchcraft,  and  therefore  turned 
to  stem  interrogation  after  a  time.  From  the  omniscience 
claimed  by  Lorenzo,  Charles  learned  that  the  stars  said  that 
he  was  soon  to  die;  his  successor  would  fall  by  violence;  his 
youngest  brother  would  never  reign;  that  Henri  de  Bourbon 
would  be  King  and  suffer  a  violent  death;  and  that  Marie 
Touchet  would  marry  again,  have  children,  and  live  to  be  more 
than  eighty  years  old.  Charles  went  to  fetch  his  infant  son, 
and,  while  out  of  the  room,  learned  that  a  search  of  the  labor- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  207 

atory  had  been  barren  of  results.  Cosmo  examined  the  child's 
hand,  while  Lorenzo  again  lectured  on  the  doctrines  trans- 
mitted through  the  mysteries  of  Isis  to  Chaldsea  and  Egypt, 
and  brought  back  to  Greece  by  Pythagoras.  Cosmo  said: 
"This  child  will  live  nearly  a  hundred  years;  he  will  meet  with 
some  checks,  but  will  be  happy  and  honored,  having  in  his 
veins  the  blood  of  the  Valois." 

"I  will  go  to  see  you,"  said  the  King,  who  had  recovered 
his  good  humor;  "you  can  go." 

As  they  reached  the  Louvre  moat,  Lorenzo  said  in  Italian: 
"By  God!  we  have  caught  them.     Much  good  may  it  do  him!" 

"He  must  make  what  he  can  of  it,"  replied  Cosmo;  "may 
the  Queen  do  as  much  for  me.  We  have  done  a  good  stroke 
for  her." 

A  few  days  later  Marie  called  the  King's  attention  to  the 
fact  that  Lorenzo  had  done  all  the  talking  and  that  Cosmo  had 
said  nothing.  "That  is  true,"  said  the  startled  King,  "and 
there  was  as  much  falsehood  as  truth  in  what  they  said.  Those 
Italians  are  as  slippery  as  the  silk  they  spin." 

This  suspicion  explains  the  hatred  of  Cosmo  that  the  King 
immediately  betrayed  at  the  trial  of  La  Mole  and  Coconnas. 
When  he  found  that  Cosmo  was  implicated  in  the  plot,  Charles 
believed  himself  duped  by  the  two  Italians;  for  it  proved  to 
him  that  his  mother's  astrologer  did  not  devote  himself  ex- 
clusively to  studying  the  stars,  fulminating  powder,  and  final 
atoms.  Lorenzo  had  then  left  the  country.  By  Catherine's 
influence,  Cosmo  was  condemned  only  to  the  galleys  and  par- 
doned as  soon  as  Charles  was  dead. 


PART  III 
THE   TWO   DREAMS 

In  1786,  Bodard  de  Saint- James  was  one  of  the  most  lux- 
urious financiers  of  Paris,  and  his  wife's  extravagance  attracted 
remark.  She  indulged  an  ambition  of  never  receiving  any 
but  people  of  quality.  One  evening  in  August,  therefore,  when 
her  rooms  were  full,  the  habitues  were  astonished  to  see  two 
new  faces  of  decidedly  inferior  birth.     To  one  of  her  inquisitive 


2o8  CATHERINE    DE'   MEDICI 

guests,  Madame  de  Saint- James,  she  explained  that  one  was 
physician  to  the  Court  pages  and  had  done  her  the  great  serv- 
ice of  removing  blemishes  in  her  complexion.  The  other,  a 
little  prim  man,  as  neat  as  a  doll,  who  looked  as  if  he  drank 
verjuice,  was  a  lawyer  from  Artois,  who  had  some  business  with 
her  husband.  After  this  humiliating  confession,  Madame 
Bodard  returned  to  her  game  of  faro.  When  the  tables  broke 
up,  at  half-past  twelve,  ten  of  the  guests  sat  down  to  supper, 
the  two  strangers  only  staying  on  the  pressing  invitation  of  the 
hostess. 

At  first  the  supper  was  deadly  dull,  but  after  a  time  one 
of  the  guests,  Beaumarchais,  and  two  of  the  ladies  entered 
into  a  little  plot  to  make  the  two  strangers  tipsy.  The  surgeon 
was  easy  enough  to  ply  with  wine;  but,  after  the  first  glass,  the 
lawyer,  with  cold  politeness,  refused  a  second. 

The  hostess  turned  the  conversation  to  the  wonderful 
suppers  given  by  Cardinal  de  Rohan  to  the  Comte  de  Cagli- 
ostro,  and  asserted,  with  great  positiveness,  that  she  had  seen 
Queen  Cleopatra.  The  lawyer  said  that  he  quite  believed  her, 
because  he  had  spoken  to  Catherine  de'  Medici.  Nettled  at 
the  incredulity  of  his  convives,  he  had  to  tell  his  story. 

He  would  not  actually  swear  that  it  was  the  Queen  herself, 
because  such  a  miracle  appeared  impossible  to  a  Christian  and 
a  philosopher;  but,  at  any  rate,  the  lady  he  saw  was  costumed 
exactly  as  in  the  Queen's  famous  portrait  and  had  her  color- 
less complexion  and  familiar  features.  Cagliostro  could  not 
guess  the  name  of  the  personage  in  whose  company  the  lawyer 
wished  to  be.  The  latter  was  utterly  amazed.  The  magic 
spectacle  of  a  supper  where  such  illustrious  women  of  the  past 
were  guests  dumfounded  him,  and  when  he  left  about  midnight 
his  mind  was  in  a  whirl. 

As  he  laid  his  head  upon  the  pillow  the  grand  shade  of 
Catherine  again  rose  before  him;  and,  prompted  by  some  un- 
known power,  he  said:  "Ah,  Madame,  you  committed  a  very 
great  crime!" 

"Which?"  she  asked  in  a  deep  voice. 

"  That  for  which  the  signal  was  given  on  the  24th  of  August ! " 

With  a  scornful  smile,  she  rephed:  "Do  you  call  that  a 
crime  ?    It  was  only  an  accident.     The  undertaking  was  badly 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  209 

managed,  and  the  good  result  we  looked  for  failed — for  France, 
for  all  Europe,  and  for  the  Catholic  Church.  How  could 
we  help  it?  Our  orders  were  badly  carried  out.  We  could 
not  find  as  many  Montlucs  as  we  needed.  Posterity  will  not 
give  us  credit  for  the  defective  communications  which  hin- 
dered us  from  giving  our  work  the  unity  of  impulse  which  is 
necessary  to  any  great  coup  d'elat;  that  was  our  misfortune. 
If  by  the  25th  of  August  not  the  shadow  of  a  Huguenot  had 
been  left  in  France,  I  should  have  been  regarded  to  the  remotest 
posterity  as  a  noble  incarnation  of  Providence.  How  often 
have  the  spirits  of  Sixtus  Fifth,  of  Richelieu,  of  Bossuet, 
secretly  accused  me  of  having  failed  in  my  undertaking,  after 
daring  to  conceive  of  it!  And  how  many  regrets  attended  my 
death ! 

"The  disease  w^as  still  rife  thirty  years  after  that  Saint- 
Bartholomew's  night;  and  it  had  caused  the  shedding  of  ten 
times  more  noble  blood  in  France  than  was  left  to  be  shed  on 
August  26,  1572.  The  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  for 
which  you  had  medals  struck,  cost  more  tears,  more  blood  and 
money,  and  killed  more  prosperity  in  France  than  three  Saint- 
Bartholomews.  Letellier,  with  a  dip  of  ink,  carried  into  effect 
the  decree  which  the  crown  had  secretly  desired  since  my  day; 
but  though  on  August  25,  1572,  this  tremendous  execution  was 
necessary,  on  August  25,  1685,  it  was  useless.  Under  Henri 
de  Valois's  second  son,  heresy  was  scarcely  pregnant;  under 
Henri  de  Bourbon's  second  son  the  teeming  mother  had  cast  her 
spawn  over  the  whole  world. 

"You  accuse  me  of  crime,  and  you  raise  statues  to  the  son 
of  Anne  of  Austria!  But  he  and  I  aimed  at  the  same  end. 
He  succeeded;  I  failed;  but  Louis  Fourteenth  found  the  Prot- 
estants disarmed,  while  in  my  day  they  had  armies,  states- 
men, captains,  and  Germany  to  back  them." 

Catherine  proceeded  in  the  same  strain  to  defend  her  course, 
saying  she  had  been  as  calm  and  cold  as  reason  itself.  It  was 
all  for  the  sake  of  the  State  that  she  had  condemned  the  Hugue- 
nots: it  was  without  pity  but  without  anger;  they  were  the 
rotten  orange  in  her  basket.  Her  only  aversion  was  for  the 
Guises,  who  wanted  to  snatch  the  crown  from  her  children. 

When  the  lawyer  suggested  that  she  might  have  given  to 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 14 


2IO  CATHERINE    DE'   MEDICI 

the  Reformers  the  wise  institution  which  made  the  reign  of 
Henri  IV  so  glorious  and  peaceful,  she  said  that  the  secret  of 
that  reign  was  that  a  nation  needs  repose  after  a  furious  struggle. 
Still,  Henri  committed  two  terrible  blunders:  he  ought  neither 
to  have  recanted  nor  to  have  left  France  Catholic  after  his 
conversion;  he  ought  to  have  seen  that  he  could  have  changed 
the  face  of  France  without  a  shock — "either  not  a  single  stole, 
or  not  a  single  conventicle.  To  leave  two  hostile  principles 
at  work  in  a  government  with  nothing  to  balance  them  is  a 
crime  in  a  king:  it  is  sowing  the  seed  of  revolutions." 

Catherine  proceeded  to  say  that,  although  a  Pope's  niece, 
she  would  just  as  soon  have  been  a  Calvinist;  and,  after  all, 
could  it  be  possible  that  men  of  brains  still  thought  that  religion 
had  anything  to  do  with  that  retarded  revolution?  "A  revolu- 
tion," said  she,  with  a  look  of  deep  meaning,  "which  is  still 
progressing,  and  which  you  may  achieve — yes,  you,  who  hear 
me!" 

Luther  and  Calvin,  Catherine  held,  by  pointing  out  to  the 
middle  classes  the  abuses  of  Rome,  aroused  a  spirit  of  general 
investigation,  and  examination  leads  to  doubt.  Instead  of 
faith,  an  inquisitive  and  destructive  philosophy  rose;  science 
bred  heresy,  indefinite  liberty  was  aimed  at  more  than  reform. 
The  Reformers  sought  to  annihilate  religion  and  royalty,  and 
the  middle  classes  were  to  join  in  an  international  compact. 
Catherine  maintained  that  she  stood  between  Louis  XII  and 
Richelieu,  the  one  who  lived  too  soon  and  the  other  too  late  as 
a  visible  link  in  an  unrecognizable  chain.  "You  forget  that 
pohtical  liberty,  the  peace  of  a  nation,  and  science  itself,  are 
gifts  for  which  Fate  demands  a  heavy  blood  tax.  Great  truths 
find  vigor  only  in  baths  of  blood.  Christianity  itself  was  not 
established  without  martyrs."  This  doctrine  of  blood  was 
dinned  into  the  ears  of  her  hearer  until  he  woke ;  and  he  was  to 
be  one  of  the  builders  of  the  new  social  edifice. 

When  the  lawyer  ceased  speaking,  the  doctor  awoke  from  a 
half-drunken  stupor  and  exclaimed:  "I,  too,  dreamed!"  His 
dream  was  of  a  people  he  found  in  the  leg  of  a  patient  he  was 
about  to  amputate,  and  he  was  astonished  to  find  someone  to 
talk  to  in  that  leg.  "When  I  first  found  myself  in  his  skin, 
I  discerned  there  an  amazing  number  of  tiny  beings,  moving, 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  211 

thinking,  and  arguing.  Some  lived  in  the  man's  body  and 
some  in  his  mind.  His  ideas  were  creatures  that  were  bom, 
grew,  and  died ;  they  were  sick,  gay,  healthy,  sad — and  all  had 
personal  individuality.  They  fought  or  fondled.  A  few  ideas 
flew  forth  and  went  to  dwell  in  the  world  of  intellect. 

"Suddenly  I  understood  that  there  are  two  worlds — the 
visible  and  the  invisible  universe;  that  the  earth,  like  man,  has 
a  body  and  a  soul.  A  new  light  was  cast  on  nature,  and  I  per- 
ceived its  immensity  when  I  saw  the  ocean  of  beings  every- 
where distributed  in  masses  and  in  species,  all  of  one  and  the 
same  living  matter,  from  marble  rocks  up  to  God.  A  mag- 
nificent sight!  In  short,  there  was  a  universe  in  my  patient. 
When  I  inserted  my  lancet  in  his  gangrened  leg,  I  destroyed  a 
thousand  such  beings." 

When  the  bored  company  rose  from  the  supper-table, 
Madame  de  Saint- James  took  the  lawyer  aside  and  said: 

"Monsieur  de  Robespierre,  will  you  do  me  the  favor  of 
seeing  Monsieur  Marat  home?  He  is  incapable  of  standing 
upright." 

"With  pleasure,  Madame;  I  wish  you  had  ordered  me  to  do 
something  more  difficult." 


A    BACHELOR'S    ESTABLISHMENT    (1843) 
(Lo  Rahouilleuse) 

One  part  of  this  book  appeared  as  Les  Deux  Freres  in  La  Presse,  in  1841; 
and  another  in  the  same  paper,  in  1842,  as  Un  Menage  de  Gargon  en  Province. 
Then  these  were  issued  in  book  form  in  1843.  The  second  title  was  given  to 
the  book  when  it  was  included  in  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  de  Province;  but  Balzac 
changed  the  title  to  La  Rahouilleuse  ("one  who  stirs  up  the  waters  of  a  brook"). 
Flore  Brazier  {La  Rahouilleuse),  Madame  Bridau,  Madame  Descoings,  and  the 
Hochons  appear  solely  in  this  book;  Joseph  Bridau,  frequently  met  with  in  other 
volumes,  is  said  to  be  a  portrait  of  Eugene  Delacroix,  the  painter.  In  the  dedica- 
tion to  Nodier,  Balzac  said:  "I  have  never,  perhaps,  drawn  a  picture  which 
shows  more  clearly  than  this  how  indispensable  the  stabihty  of  marriage  is  to 
European  society,  what  the  sorrows  are  of  woman's  weakness,  what  dangers  are 
involved  in  unbridled  self-interest."  The  novel  has  been  dramatized  in  French 
and  in  English. 

[N  1792,  a  Dr.  Rouget,  who  was  regarded  by  the 
citizens  as  a  very  sly  fox,  lived  in  the  town  of 
Issoudun.  As  long  as  he  lived,  little  was  said 
about  him  and  he  was  treated  civilly.  His  wife, 
a  Demoiselle  Descoings,  had  first  a  son,  Jean- 
Jacques,  and,  ten  years  later,  a  daughter,  Agathe. 
The  doctor's  father-in-law  and  his  wife,  the 
Descoings,  were  rich  wool-brokers.  Their  son, 
a  younger  brother  of  Madame  Rouget,  went  to 
Paris  and  set  up  as  a  grocer  in  the  Rue  Saint-Honore.  He 
married  the  widow  of  Master  Bixiou,  his  predecessor.  Dr. 
Rouget,  who  did  not  expect  his  wife  to  live  long,  sent  Agathe 
to  Paris,  hoping  that  the  Descoings,  who  had  no  children, 
would  take  a  fancy  to  her.  Dr.  Rouget  wanted  to  disinherit  his 
daughter,  and  thought  it  might  be  done  if  he  transplanted  her. 

Agathe,  the  handsomest  girl  in  Issoudun,  resembled  neither 
her  father  nor  her  mother.  Her  birth  had  occasioned  a  feud 
between  Dr.  Rouget  and  his  friend.  Monsieur  Lousteau,  who 
removed  with  his  family  from  Issoudun.  Madame  Rouget  con- 
fided her  woes  to  Lousteau's  sister,  Madame  Hochon,  Agathe's 
godmother.     Madame  Rouget  said:    "I   shall  never  see   my 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  213 

child  again!"  "And  she  was  sadly  right,"  Madame  Hochon 
always  remarked.  Gossip  said  Dr.  Rougct  was  killing  his  wife 
by  inches.  Her  stupid  son  was  a  grief  to  her,  for  Jean- Jacques 
Rouget  was  like  his  father,  only  worse,  and  the  doctor,  as  was 
said,  was  not  very  admirable. 

Soon  after  Agathe  arrived  in  Paris,  her  uncle,  having  been 
too  rash  of  speech,  was  reported  by  Citoyenne  Duplay  to  her 
lodger,  Robespierre.  The  grocer  was  arrested.  Madame  Des- 
coings  knew  Bridau,  an  under  secretary;  but  he  was  unable  to 
save  Descoings,  who  perished  on  the  scaffold.  In  the  course 
of  the  few  visits  paid  to  Madame  Descoings  by  Bridau,  he 
became  infatuated  with  Agathe  and  offered  marriage.  The 
delighted  Dr.  Rouget  hurried  to  Paris  to  see  that  the  settle- 
ments were  drawn  to  his  mind.  Bridau,  desperately  in  love, 
left  this  matter  to  the  perfidious  doctor.  Old  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Descoings  had  left  their  property  to  Madame  Rouget, 
who  died  in  1799,  and  this  money  came  into  the  hands  of  Dr. 
Rouget.  His  income  was  thirty  thousand  francs.  After  his 
wife's  death,  the  doctor  still  led  a  dissolute  hfe,  but  with  more 
method,  and  in  the  privacy  of  home  life.     He  died  in  1805. 

Agathe  Rouget  resembled  Dr.  Rouget's  mother.  Her  por- 
trait painted  by  her  son  showed  an  oval  face  with  delicate  fea- 
tures, blue  eyes,  and  placid  expression.  She  was  an  ideal 
housewife,  trained  by  a  country  life,  and  never  parted  from  her 
mother.  She  was  pious  without  bigotry,  and  had  no  learning 
but  such  as  the  Church  allows  to  women.  She  lived  a  pure, 
simple,  and  quiet  life  as  the  wife  of  Bridau,  who  attached  him- 
self fanatically  to  Napoleon.  The  latter  made  him  head  of  a 
department  of  state  in  1804.  Rich  with  a  salary  of  twelve 
thousand  francs  and  very  handsome  presents,  Bridau  cared 
not  at  all  for  the  disgraceful  proceedings  by  which  Agathe  had 
been  robbed.  Six  months  before  his  death,  old  Rouget  had 
sold  part  of  his  estate  to  his  son,  to  whom  he  secured  the  re- 
mainder, in  part  by  deed  of  gift  and  in  part  as  his  direct  heir. 
An  advance  on  her  prospective  inheritance  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  secured  under  her  marriage  settlement  represented 
the  whole  of  Agathe's  share  in  her  father's  and  mother's  fortunes. 

Bridau  idolized  the  Emperor.  From  1804  to  1808  he  lived 
in  style  in  an  apartment  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  near  both  to 


214  A   BACHELOR'S   ESTABLISHMENT 

his  office  and  the  Tuileries.  Agathe  was  always  relieved  to 
relapse  into  provincial  simplicity  after  enforced  ceremonial 
splendor.  In  1808  Bridau  killed  himself  by  overwork,  just 
as  Napoleon  was  about  to  promote  him.  The  Emperor  entered 
Madame  Bridau's  name  on  the  Pension  List  for  four  thousand 
francs  a  year  and  charged  the  education  of  her  two  sons  to  the 
privy  purse. 

Agathe  had  had  no  communication  with  Issoudun,  except 
a  yearly  letter  from  her  godmother,  Madame  Hochon,  who  had 
begged  her  to  let  Monsieur  Hochon  look  after  her  interests. 
She,  however,  had  not  wished  to  annoy  her  brother.  With  her 
pension  and  Bridau's  investments,  Agathe  had  six  thousand 
francs  a  year.  Madame  Descoings,  her  uncle's  widow,  desired 
to  live  with  Agathe:  the  two  widows,  therefore,  joined  their 
incomes.  They  had  between  them  twelve  thousand  francs  a 
year. 

In  1809,  Madame  Descoings  was  sixty-five  years  old:  she 
owned  up  to  thirty-six!  In  the  heyday  of  her  charms  she  was 
called  La  Belle  Epiciere.  She  was  of  medium  height,  plump, 
with  a  fair  warm  complexion  and  chestnut  hair.  She  was  fond 
of  cooking  dainty  dishes,  loved  the  theater,  and  spent  a  great 
deal  of  money  in  dress,  was  attractive  by  reason  of  her  gentle 
and  contagious  cheerfulness  and  she  understood  a  joke;  but 
Madame  Descoings  indulged  one  vice  which  she  wrapped  in 
the  deepest  mystery — she  put  money  into  the  lottery.  Since 
the  death  of  the  husband  she  had  adored,  Agathe  cared  for 
nothing  but  her  two  children. 

Madame  Descoings  had  a  fancy  for  sets  of  three  numbers,  and 
she  gradually  increased  her  debt,  surreptitiously  borrowed  from 
Agathe,  always  staking  higher  sums,  hoping  that  the  favorite 
combination,  which  had  not  come  out  in  ten  years,  would  cover 
the  loss.  Presently,  the  debt  amounted  to  twenty  thousand 
francs.  She  then  wished  to  pledge  her  fortune  to  repay  Agathe, 
but  her  lawyer  showed  her  that  Dr.  Rouget  had,  at  the  death 
of  his  brother-in-law,  her  husband,  taken  over  his  liabilities 
and  assets,  indemnifying  the  widow  by  a  life-annuity,  charged 
on  Jean- Jacques  Rouget's  estate.  It  was  impossible  to  raise 
money  on  this  annuity.  With  sobs,  Madame  Descoings  con- 
fessed the  state  of  affairs  to  her  niece.     Madame  Bridau  did  not 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  215 

reproach  her.  She  sold  out  some  of  her  securities,  parted  with 
her  servants  and  furniture,  paid  all  debts  and  gave  up  her 
apartment. 

Madame  Bridau  now  went  to  live  in  the  Rue  Mazarine, 
opposite  the  Palais  de  I'lnstitut.  She  rented  the  top  floor,  con- 
sisting of  a  small  suite,  with  two  little  rooms  for  the  boys  under 
the  roof.  This  apartment  was  simply  furnished  with  a  few 
necessary  pieces  saved  from  the  wreck,  a  picture  of  Napoleon 
by  Vernet,  a  portrait  of  Bridau,  two  large  bird-cages — one  full 
of  canaries,  the  other  of  exotic  birds — and  cats  slept  in  the  arm- 
chairs. The  dashing  Madame  Descoings  occupied  a  similar 
apartment  on  the  floor  below.  Her  income  was  reduced  to 
twelve  hundred  francs  a  year.  The  widows  lived  together; 
the  aunt  managed  the  dinner;  and  in  the  evening  a  few  old 
friends— Bridau's  clerks — came  in  to  play  cards.  Madame  Des- 
coings still  clung  to  her  three  numbers,  hoping  by  a  stroke  of 
luck  to  repay  all  she  had  borrowed  from  her  niece.  Madame 
Bridau  reduced  her  expenses  to  save  what  she  could  for  her 
children.  Thus  the  two  widows  had  sunk  from  unreal  opulence 
to  voluntary  penury — one  under  the  influence  of  a  vice,  the 
other  under  the  promptings  of  the  purest  virtue.  None  of  these 
trivial  things  are  foreign  to  the  deep  lesson  to  be  derived  from 
this  story,  founded  on  the  sordid  interests  of  common  life. 

Philippe,  the  elder  of  Madame  Bridau's  children,  was  strik- 
ingly like  his  mother;  and,  moreover,  possessed,  though  fair- 
haired  and  blue-eyed,  a  daring  look  which  was  often  mistaken 
for  high  spirit  and  courage.  By  dint  of  fighting  at  school,  he 
acquired  that  hardihood  and  scorn  of  pain  which  gave  rise  to 
military  courage.  He  hated  study.  From  his  purely  super- 
ficial resemblance  to  her,  Agathe  inferred  that  they  must  agree 
in  mind.  Joseph,  three  years  younger,  was  an  ugly  likeness  of 
his  father,  with  bushy,  black,  ill-kempt  hair,  and  slovenly  habits. 
The  mother  greatly  preferred  Philippe.  She  looked  for  won- 
ders from  Philippe;  she  founded  no  hopes  on  Joseph. 

One  day,  in  181 2,  Joseph  slipped  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
Institute :  he  was  fascinated  with  the  statues,  busts,  and  plaster 
studies,  and  his  vocation  seethed  within  him.  Entering  a 
room,  where  a  dozen  lads  were  drawing  from  a  statue,  he  became 
the  butt  of  their  horse-play.     The  sculptor,  Chaudet,  coming  in, 


2i6  A  BACHELOR'S   ESTABLISHMENT 

put  a  stop  to  their  tortures,  and,  questioning  the  boy,  found  he 
wanted  to  be  an  artist.  He  told  him  to  come  to  the  studio  as 
often  as  he  pleased.  Soon  his  progress  was  so  great  that  his 
master,  Lemire,  came  to  Agathe  to  speak  of  her  son's  vocation; 
but,  a  true  provincial  and  ignorant  of  art,  she  was  horrified. 
Painting  to  her  was  a  "beggar's  trade." 

Philippe  was  a  spectator  of  Napoleon's  review  at  the  Tuileries, 
after  the  rout  at  Moscow.  It  turned  his  head.  Unknown  to 
his  mother,  he  petitioned  the  Emperor  to  enroll  him,  saying  he 
was  the  son  of  his  favorite,  Bridau.  Within  twenty-four  hours 
Philippe  was  at  Saint-Cyr;  and  in  1813  was  made  a  sublieu- 
tenant in  a  cavalry  regiment.  He  soon  gained  a  lieutenancy; 
then  a  captaincy ;  and  won  the  Cross.  He  witnessed  Napoleon's 
farewell  at  Fontainebleau  and  refused  to  serve  under  the  Bour- 
bons. He  was  only  nineteen.  To  his  mother,  he  was  a  man 
of  genius,  while  Joseph,  small,  sickly,  loving  peace  and  quiet 
and  dreaming  of  fame  as  an  artist,  was  doomed,  she  declared, 
"  to  give  her  nothing  but  worry  and  anxiety."  In  181 6,  Philippe, 
fallen  from  the  half-pay  of  major  in  the  Emperor's  Dragoon 
Guards,  returned  to  his  mother's  apartment.  Joseph,  de- 
pendent on  the  two  widows,  had  a  studio  in  the  loft.  Joseph 
worshiped  his  mother;  Philippe  allowed  her  to  adore  him,  and 
had  a  deep  contempt  for  Joseph.  Presently  Philippe  embarked 
for  the  United  States  to  aid  in  founding  the  Champ  d'Asile. 
Agathe  paid  ten  thousand  francs  and  went  to  Havre  to  see  him 
off.  Joseph  advanced  in  his  art ;  but  the  family  had  a  terrible 
year  of  hardship.  Philippe  lost  in  the  great  swindle;  where- 
upon, by  means  of  family  sacrifices,  money  was  sent  for  his 
return.  He  came  back  a  bully,  a  drinker,  a  smoker,  rude, 
assertive,  and  deteriorated  by  penury  and  privations,  but  in 
appearance  preserving  the  blunt,  frank,  easy-going  manner  of  a 
soldier.  He  was  a  hero  in  his  mother's  eyes;  but  he  had  really 
become  a  rascal.  He  soon  developed  into  a  loafer  and  gambler, 
and  getting  intimate  with  a  former  captain  of  the  Dragoon 
Guards,  named  Giroudeau,  completed  what  Rabelais  calls  "the 
devil's  outfit"  by  adding  a  fourth  iniquity  to  his  dram,  his  cigar, 
and  his  gambling.  This  Captain  took  Philippe  to  see  Made- 
moiselle Florentine,  a  dancer,  at  whose  house  Philippe  fell  in 
love  with  another  dancer,  Marie  Godeschal,  whose  stage  name 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  217 

was  Maricttc.  Philippe  now  got  in  with  a  newspaper  and 
theatrical  set  and  lived  a  wild  life.  But  before  long  Mariette 
attracted  the  attentions  of  a  duke  at  Louis  XVIII's  court  and 
threw  over  the  rough  and  brainless  soldier.  Philippe  was  now 
deeply  in  debt.  Moreover,  he  had  borrowed  from  the  cash-box 
of  a  newspaper.  He  told  this  to  Joseph,  adding  that  he  intended 
to  commit  suicide.  Joseph  informed  Madame  Descoings,  who 
told  Agathe.  The  household  was  terrified.  Philippe,  how- 
ever, went  to  the  same  cash-box  and  borrowed  five  hundred 
francs  more,  which  he  took  to  the  gaming-table,  and  soon  lost 
it  all.  Philippe  then  returned  to  the  family  roof,  where  the 
tearful,  frightened  women  petted  him  and  excused  his  be- 
havior. He  continued  his  life  of  dissipation  and  Joseph  went 
on  with  his  painting.  Madame  Descoings  lavished  her  affec- 
tion upon  the  young  artist,  but  Agathe  lived  only  in  Philippe. 

Madame  Descoings  still  continued  to  stake  on  the  same 
three  numbers  that  had  never  yet  been  drawn.  This  set  was 
now  nearly  twenty-one  years  old.  It  would  soon  be  of  age. 
Madame  Descoings  based  high  hopes  on  this  trivial  fact.  She 
kept  her  savings  sewed  in  the  bottom  mattress  of  her  bed;  and 
resolved  to  risk  her  all  on  the  combinations  of  the  three  cher- 
ished numbers. 

Joseph  kept  some  of  his  savings  in  a  skull  that  stood  in  an 
antique  cabinet.  His  money  disappeared  so  rapidly  that  he 
became  suspicious.  He  found  that  Philippe  was  guilty  of  this 
petty  theft;  came  to  the  conclusion  that  what  some  of  the 
friends  of  the  family  said  was  right — Philippe  was  a  scoundrel. 
Philippe  next  took  money  from  the  pocket  of  his  mother's 
dress,  while  he  thought  her  asleep;  but  she  saw  him.  She 
then  offered  to  give  him  money,  and  even  tried  to  earn  some  by 
needlework ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  supply  Philippe's  demands. 

On  Christmas  Eve,  when  Agathe  and  Madame  Descoings 
were  both  out,  Philippe,  needing  money  for  the  gaming-table, 
entered  Madame  Descoings's  rooms  and  stole  the  twenty  napo- 
leons hidden  in  her  mattress.  With  these  he  began  playing, 
and  at  first  he  won.  He  paid  Florentine  the  five  hundred 
francs  he  owed  her,  and  after  a  splendid  supper  returned  to 
the  tables  and  played  for  an  hour.  He  doubled  his  winnings, 
and   gained  a  hundred  and  fifty   thousand  francs;    but  then 


2i8  A  BACHELOR'S   ESTABLISHMENT 

luck  turned,  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  left  the 
gambling-house  a  ruined  man. 

That  same  evening  Joseph  paid  a  visit  to  Madame  Des- 
coings.  She  told  him  about  the  monster  stake  on  the  famous 
ternion.  Joseph  wondered  where  the  four  hundred  francs  were 
to  come  from.  "You  will  see,"  she  said,  and  led  Joseph  to 
her  bedroom.  One  look  at  the  mattress,  and  the  poor  old 
woman  fainted.  Joseph  called  his  mother  and  they  worked 
over  her.  On  coming  to,  she  told  them  that  all  her  savings 
were  in  the  mattress  and  that  she  was  confident  that  Philippe 
had  taken  them,  Agathe  begged  her  to  take  the  family  silver 
in  repayment;  but  when  the  three  opened  the  plate-box,  a 
pawn- ticket  was  all  that  met  their  horrified  gaze.  Joseph  then 
ran  for  his  savings ;  but  Maman  Descoings  heroically  refused  to 
accept  them.  Joseph,  however,  ran  out  to  find  a  lottery-ticket 
office,  but  it  was  too  late — they  had  all  closed.  The  next 
morning,  as  they  were  having  coffee,  their  old  friend,  Des- 
rosches,  came  in  to  congratulate  Madame  Descoings  on  the  suc- 
cess of  her  three  numbers.  He  handed  them  the  list:  Joseph 
read  it;  Agathe  read  it;  Madame  Descoings  read  nothing:  she 
fell  back  in  her  chair,  stricken  with  apoplexy,  and  died  in  a 
few  days.  Philippe  on  his  return  excited  the  dying  woman  and 
was  denounced  by  his  mother  and  brother. 

Agathe  now  begged  Philippe  to  rejoin  the  army  and  gave 
him  a  hundred  francs.  He  departed  coldly,  saying  he  was 
going  to  Florentine,  Giroudeau's  mistress.  "They  are  real 
friends!"  he  added. 

In  1822,  Agathe  was  reduced  so  low  that  she  had  become  a 
clerk  in  a  lottery-ticket  office.  Her  thoughts  constantly  turned 
to  Philippe;  and,  at  her  request,  Joseph  went  to  ask  him  to 
sit  for  his  portrait.  Philippe  came,  and  on  one  visit,  stole  a 
copy  of  a  Rubens,  thinking  it  was  the  original.  After  this  last 
crime,  Agathe  never  again  mentioned  Philippe.  But  the  last 
blow  was  yet  to  fall.  Philippe  was  concerned  in  a  conspiracy 
of  officers  and  arrested.  Giroudeau  told  the  widow  that  if  she 
could  raise  twelve  thousand  francs  Philippe  might  be  released. 

Madame  Bridau  then  wrote  to  Madame  Hochon,  imploring 
her  to  beg  Jean- Jacques  Rouget  to  save  Philippe;  and  should 
this  prove  impossible,  would  she  herself  lend  the  money  ? 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  219 

Madame  Hochon  replied:  "Though  your  brother  has  forty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  the  money  he  has  saved 
in  the  last  seventeen  years,  which  Monsieur  Hochon  estimates 
at  more  than  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  he  will  not  spend 
two  farthings  on  the  nephews  he  has  never  seen.  As  for  me — 
as  long  as  my  husband  lives,  I  shall  never  have  six  francs  of 
my  own.  Hochon  is  the  biggest  miser  in  Issoudun.  ...  I 
have  not  attempted  to  speak  with  your  brother,  who  keeps  a 
woman,  whose  very  humble  servant  he  is.  It  is  pitiable  to  see 
how  the  poor  man  is  treated  in  his  own  house  when  he  has  a 
sister  and  nephews.  I  have  hinted  to  you  several  times  that 
your  presence  at  Issoudun  might  save  your  brother,  and  rescue 
from  the  clutches  of  that  hussy  forty  or  even  sixty  thousand 
francs  a  year,"  She  invited  Agathe  to  come  to  Issoudun,  and 
added  that  there  were  rumors  of  a  will  to  deprive  her  of  her 
inheritance. 

Desroches,  Joseph's  lav^^er,  advised  him  to  hasten  to  Is- 
soudun with  his  mother. 

Issoudun  afforded  no  diversions  and  the  young  men  sought 
amusement  at  the  expense  of  the  town  itself.  In  181 6  they 
formed  a  society — the  "Knights  of  Idlesse  " — for  playing  prac- 
tical jokes;  and  in  1823  all  Issoudun  lived  in  terror  of  them. 
Their  leader,  Maxence  Gilet,  called  Max  for  short,  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  son  of  Lousteau.  Dr.  Rouget  also  claimed 
him;  but  he  was  the  son  of  neither.  He  had  been  a  bad  boy 
in  the  town,  had  run  away  and  served  in  the  army,  been  sent 
to  the  hulks,  and  now  was  a  braggart  and  bully.  He  was  also 
the  man  of  fashion  in  Issoudun.  Madame  Hochon's  two 
grandsons  were  his  devotees ;  and  through  them  Max  learned  of 
the  expected  visit  of  Madame  Bridau.  "Madame  Hochon's 
goddaughter  is  Rouget's  sister,"  said  one  of  the  company  to 
Max;  "if  she  and  her  son  are  coming  here,  it  is  no  doubt  to  get 
back  her  share  of  the  old  man's  fortune,  and  then  good-by  to 
your  harvest."  "If,"  said  another,  "old  Rouget  were  to  alter  his 
will,  supposing  he  has  made  one  in  favor  of  La  Rabouilleuse — " 
But  Max  cut  him  short.  He  never  allowed  anyone  to  speak 
to  him  of  Mademoiselle  Flore  Brazier,  Jean- Jacques  Rouget's 
servant-mistress.  However,  Max  bethought  himself  of  the 
danger  of  this  threatened  visit,  with  the  result  that  the  "Knights 


220  A   BACHELOR'S   ESTABLISHMENT 

of  Idlesse,"  drinking  a  toast  to  the  fair  Flore,  resolved  to 
support  Max  against  the  Bridaus.  Max  went  home  to  Rou- 
get's  house. 

La  Rabouilleuse  commanded  the  bachelor's  establishment. 
One  day  Dr.  Rouget  saw  a  little  girl  on  the  water-meadow. 
She  was  clad  in  a  tattered  petticoat  of  brown  and  white  stripes; 
a  sheet  of  paper  formed  her  hat,  beneath  which  escaped  her 
beautiful  golden  hair.  She  replied  to  his  questions  that  she 
came  from  Vatan,  and  added,  "I  rahouille  for  my  Uncle  Brazier 
there."  Rabouiller  is  a  local  word  of  Le  Berry,  used  to  describe 
the  beating  of  the  waters  with  a  racket  (rabouilloir)  to  frighten 
the  crayfish,  that,  rushing  up-stream,  are  caught  in  the  poacher's 
net.  Dr.  Rouget  satisfied  Brazier  with  money  and  "La  Ra- 
bouilleuse" entered  his  house.  She  was  seventeen  when  he 
died:  he  left  her  nothing.  Jean- Jacques,  who  was  in  love  with 
her,  persuaded  her  to  remain.  In  1816  she  fell  in  love  with 
Maxence  Gilet,  and  the  penniless  and  ambitious  officer  saw 
something  better  than  a  mere  love-affair  in  connection  with  La 
Rabouilleuse.  He  was  more  than  content  to  lodge  under  Rou- 
get's  roof. 

The  news  of  the  visit  of  the  Bridaus  was  a  bomb  to  Max 
and  Flore:  they  formed  plans  to  get  Rouget's  money  and  send 
the  Bridaus  away. 

The  Bridaus  were  welcomed  at  the  Hochons'.  Joseph  and 
his  mother  were  entertained  at  dinner,  and  Joseph  went  into 
raptures  over  the  Italian  paintings  purchased  by  the  Descoings 
for  the  sake  of  the  frames.  Max  and  Flore  persuaded  Rouget 
to  give  Joseph  the  valueless  pictures.  Joseph  sent  them  to 
Paris;  but  he  rashly  boasted  that  they  were  worth  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs.  This  reached  the  Rouget  household 
and  they  accused  Joseph  of  unfair  dealings. 

On  the  last  night  of  the  Bridaus'  stay  Max  was  stabbed  by 
Fario,  a  Spaniard,  who  had  suffered  from  the  pranks  of  the 
Knights.  Max  recognized  Fario  but  accused  Joseph,  who  was 
unfortunately  strolling  about  at  the  time.  His  innocence  was 
proved,  and  Joseph  and  Agathe  returned  to  Paris. 

Philippe  was  sentenced  to  police  surveillance.  Desroches 
got  him  sent  to  Issoudun,  hoping  he  could  rescue  his  uncle's 
fortune  from  Gilet. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  221 

"I  sent  your  brother's  pictures  back  to  Monsieur  Hochon, 
telling  him  to  deliver  them  to  you,"  said  the  lawyer.  "You 
have  an  astute  adversary — Max  Gilet  is  brave — "  "So  much 
the  better,  a  coward  would  run  away,"  said  Philippe,  who  was 
overjoyed  at  the  prospect  opening  before  him. 

Max  and  Flore  made  light  of  the  advent  of  Rouget's  elder 
nephew.  Philippe  called  on  his  uncle  and  asked  him  to  come 
across  to  the  Hochons'  and  identify  his  pictures.  Max  began 
to  smell  an  enemy.  Philippe,  investigating  his  brother's  arrest, 
and  the  history  of  Gilet  and  La  Rabouillcuse,  ended  by  form- 
ing an  alliance  with  Fario.  Flore  resolved  to  collect  bonds 
from  Rouget,  of  whom  she  was  heartily  tired,  and  go  to  Paris, 
where  she  could  be  married  to  Max.  Rouget  refused  to  give 
her  the  securities,  half  suspecting  her  plans.  Philippe  called 
on  his  uncle  and  took  him  for  a  walk,  alone,  without  Flore. 
Philippe  then  made  him  promise  that  he  would  not  sign  the 
papers  Flore  and  Max  were  trying  to  get  hold  of.  Philippe 
would  reward  him  by  "killing  Max  like  a  dog."  In  the  mean- 
time, Max  sent  Flore  away,  and  Rouget,  on  his  return,  was  in 
despair. 

Philippe,  however,  succeeded  in  bringing  Flore  back,  oust- 
ing Max  and  taking  his  place  in  the  house.  He  brutally  told 
Flore  he  was  going  to  fight  a  duel  with  Max.  In  this  duel  Max 
was  killed  and  Philippe  wounded.  Agathe  hurried  to  Issoudun. 
Shortly  afterward  Flore  Brazier,  who  had  been  ill  after  Max's 
death,  was  married  to  Jean- Jacques  Rouget.  On  the  following 
day  Philippe  took  the  bride  aside  and  with  terrible  threats  com- 
manded her  to  get  for  him  the  power  of  attorney.  "  When  once 
the  securities  are  in  my  name,"  he  said,  "we  shall  have  an  equal 
interest  in  marrying  each  other  some  day.  I  may  marry  my 
aunt-in-law  after  a  year's  widowhood,  whereas  I  could  not 
marry  a  disreputable  nobody."  Flore  quaked,  but  dared  not 
oppose  him. 

Philippe  next  took  Rouget  and  Flore  to  Paris  and  plunged 
them  into  the  wildest  dissipations.  Rouget  died  after  one  of 
Florentine's  splendid  suppers.  Philippe  then  married  the 
widow;  bought  a  fine  house  in  Paris  and  also  the  estate  of 
Brambourg,  and  gained  permission  to  entail  the  property  with 
the  title  of  Count.     He  lived  in  the  greatest  style,  gave  splendid 


222  A   BACHELOR'S   ESTABLISHMENT 

entertainments,  and  was  pitiless  to  the  companions  of  his  old 
debaucheries.  One  evening,  on  the  way  to  an  entertainment, 
at  the  Elysee-Bourbon,  Philippe,  dashing  by  in  his  carriage, 
patronizingly  bowed  to  his  mother  and  brother,  splashing  them 
with  mud.     The  adoring  mother  still  forgave  him. 

Philippe  now  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  wife  and  marry  the 
daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Soulanges. 

In  the  meanwhile  Joseph  had  attained  fame;  but  he  was 
still  in  financial  difficulties.  His  mother,  too,  was  forced  to 
work  for  her  living.  A  tender  letter  from  her  to  Philippe 
brought  a  brutal  answer.  She  fainted  on  reading  it,  and  be- 
came desperately  ill.  Agathe  at  last  understood  and  gave  her 
heart  to  Joseph  during  her  last  days.  Philippe  refused  to  visit 
his  dying  mother. 

Soon  after  Agathe's  death,  a  letter  came  to  Joseph  from 
the  Comtesse  Flore,  asking  his  charity.  Joseph  and  Bixion, 
grandson  of  Madame  Descoings,  found  her  in  a  garret,  in  rags, 
ill  and  emaciated.  She  had  been  cast  off  by  Philippe  and  had 
gone  from  bad  to  worse.  They  sent  her  to  a  hospital,  but  she 
soon  died.  Bixion  got  an  interview  with  the  Comte  de  Sou- 
langes, told  him  of  Philippe's  life  and  prevented  the  marriage. 

Philippe  played  into  the  hands  of  two  financiers  who  were 
gambling  against  him  on  the  Bourse.  Within  a  month  nothing 
remained  of  his  fortune  but  his  house,  estate,  furniture,  and 
pictures.  He  then  went  into  active  service  and  perished  hor- 
ribly in  1839,  while  fighting  the  Arabs. 

Joseph,  who  had  married  an  heiress,  inherited  Philippe's 
possessions  and  his  title.  He  still  continued  to  paint  and  greatly 
valued  the  collection  of  paintings  which  came  with  the  estate, 
although  he  used  to  laugh  at  the  title. 


A    START   IN    LIFE    (1844) 
(Un  Debut  dans  la  Vie) 

This  story  appeared  first  in  La  Legisture,  July  6  to  September  4,  1842, 
under  the  title  Le  Danger  des  Mystifications.  It  was  published  in  two  volumes. 
The  next  year,  with  fourteen  chapters  suppressed,  it  entered  the  Scenes  de  la 
Vie  Privee  in  the  Comedie  Humaine.  Balzac  wrote  to  Madame  de  Surville  that 
it  was  one  of  the  pearls  of  his  crown. 

^N  the  year  1820,  on  the  highroad  from  Paris  to 
England,  was  a  place  named  La  Cave  ("the  cel- 
lar"), a  hollow  way  leading  down  to  one  of  the 
most  delightful  nooks  of  the  Oise  valley,  and  to 
the  famous  little  town  of  I'Isle  Adam,  in  a  region 
renowned  for  its  quarries,  which  have  furnished 
materials  for  many  fine  buildings  in  Paris  and 
Brussels.  It  being  long  before  the  day  of  rail- 
roads, the  bit  of  road  from  Paris  to  I'Isle  Adam 
was  served  by  two  cou-cous,  heavy  and  grotesque  chariot 
coaches,  which  ran  to  and  fro  alternately  and  put  up,  while  in 
Paris,  at  the  Silver  Lion,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  d'Enghien. 

Pierrotin,  who  owned  and  drove  one  of  these  coaches,  was 
an  old  soldier,  a  man  of  about  forty,  determined  to  advance  in 
the  world.  The  bulging  sides  of  his  vehicle  allowed  it  to  carry 
six  passengers  on  two  seats,  which  were  as  hard  as  iron,  though 
covered  with  yellow  worsted  velvet.  A  wooden  bar  was  so 
arranged  that,  although  it  was  intended  to  form  a  support  to 
the  backs  of  the  passengers,  it  might  be  turned  at  a  pinch  into 
an  extra  seat.  This  board,  while  painful  to  adjust,  was  more 
painful  when  adjusted  and  was  the  cause  of  despair  to  travelers. 
Pierrotin  was  of  an  ambitious  and  frugal  nature,  and  continually 
talked  of  a  grand  new  conveyance  which  he  had  ordered  to  be 
built  at  a  standard  maker's.  He  drove  two  horses — a  large 
but  slow  and  aged  beast  named  Rougeot,  and  Bichette,  a  tiny 
mare  that  ate  little  and  could  go  like  the  wind. 

223 


224  A   START  IN   LIFE 

Early  one  autumn  morning  Pierrotin  stood  in  front  of  the 
Silver  Lion,  his  hands  in  his  blouse  pockets,  looking  up  and 
down  the  square.  It  was  near  time  for  starting,  but  no  passen- 
gers had  arrived.  This  was  hard,  for  the  grand  coach  so  long 
talked  about  was  actually  finished,  and  was  advertised  to  make 
its  first  trip  the  succeeding  Sunday.  Pierrotin  had  deposited 
fifteen  hundred  francs,  and  unless  he  could  raise  the  remaining 
thousand  by  that  date,  he  would  lose  not  only  his  coach  but  his 
money  as  well.  Therefore  his  twinkling  eyes  looked  anxiously 
around  for  passengers. 

Presently  a  footman  appeared  with  a  small  leather  trunk, 
and  told  Pierrotin  that  his  master  wished  to  take  passage  if  he 
could  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Pierrotin  could  indeed  wait, 
but  who  was  his  master?  His  master  was  a  comte,  a  states- 
man, who  wished  to  visit  his  estate  at  Presles,  and  who  desired 
to  go  incognito.  It  must  be  no  other  than  the  Comte  de  Serizy, 
intending  to  take  his  steward,  Moreau,  by  surprise.  The 
footman  admitted  this,  but  appealed  to  the  driver  not  to  betray 
his  identity.  Pierrotin  was  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  not 
to  oblige  a  nobleman,  but  there  was  heaviness  in  his  heart 
on  account  of  his  friend  Moreau,  who,  while  managing  his 
master's  estate  magnificently,  had  found  ways  to  enrich  him- 
self. There  was  a  particular  rumor  in  regard  to  a  farm,  wholly 
enclosed  in  the  estate,  long  desired  by  the  Comte,  which  a  cer- 
tain farmer  Leger  had  held  on  a  long  lease  from  the  owner, 
Margueron,  which  lease  was  about  to  expire.  Leger  conceived 
the  idea  of  buying  the  land  from  Margueron  himself,  and  selling 
it  again  to  the  Comte  through  Moreau,  both  making  a  fine 
percentage  on  the  transaction.  Owing  to  a  somewhat  too 
zealous  letter  from  Moreau  in  the  matter,  the  Comte  had  con- 
sulted his  attorney.  Monsieur  Crottat,  who  had  advised  his 
going  in  person,  quietly,  asking  Margueron  to  dinner,  and 
closing  the  business  himself.  M.  Crottat  added  that  he  would 
send  his  clerk  down  with  a  form  of  sale,  thus  insuring  the  trans- 
action and  frustrating  the  steward's  designs.  Immediately 
following  this  advice  had  come  a  visit  from  Madame  de  Rey- 
bert,  wife  of  a  retired  army  officer  living  at  Presles,  who  de- 
sired the  stewardship  for  her  husband,  and  was  much  incensed 
at  the   Moreaus,   who   carried   themselves  arrogantly   toward 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  225 

many  of  the  townspeople,  giving  corroborative  information  in 
regard  to  the  proposed  sale  and  setting  forth  her  husband's 
claims  to  the  place  held  by  Moreau. 

This  visit  had  decided  the  Comte  to  follow  his  attorney's 
advice,  and,  anticipating  an  expected  visit,  he  was  about  to 
take  a  seat  in  the  public  vehicle.  Naturally  Pierrotin  did  not 
know  all  these  details,  but  the  little  he  did  know  gave  him  ap- 
prehension when  he  learned  of  the  Comte's  journey. 

Monsieur  de  Sdrizy  was  one  of  the  great  nobles  of  France 
and  seldom  traveled  outside  his  own  coach.  Moreau's  father 
had  been  of  service  to  the  Sdrizy  family  during  the  Revolution ; 
he  had  married  a  former  maid  of  the  Comtesse,  and  had  been 
treated  with  much  consideration  by  the  Comte.  He  had  served 
the  latter  faithfully,  in  spite  of  his  shrewdness,  and  the  Comte 
was  loth  to  believe  in  his  dishonesty.  The  Comte  and  Comtesse 
had  recently  been  making  alterations  at  Presles,  preparatory 
to  taking  possession  themselves  after  a  long  time  of  non-resi- 
dence. The  Moreaus,  particularly  Madame  Moreau,  had 
carried  themselves  very  nearly  as  owners  of  the  estate,  and 
people  wondered  how  they  would  like  returning  to  the  con- 
dition of  upper  servants.  They  were,  in  truth,  looking  to  a 
different  destination.  Moreau  had  saved  so  much  that  they 
meant  to  buy  a  small  estate  in  I'lsle  Adam,  and  for  this  reason 
Moreau  was  especially  anxious  to  gain  the  profit  on  the  sale. 

The  Comte  de  S6rizy  was  truly  a  great  man,  who  worked 
incessantly  for  the  good  of  the  State,  to  the  detriment  of  his 
health.  He  was  much  older  than  the  Comtesse,  whom  he 
adored.  She  was  a  beauty,  who  was  a  widow  before  he  mar- 
ried her.  She  remained  mistress  of  herself  after  as  well  as 
before  her  second  marriage,  but  retained  her  fascination  for 
her  husband,  who  treated  her  as  a  mother  treats  a  spoiled  child. 
He  was  not  happy,  but  he  buried  himself  in  his  work,  and  by 
the  protection  of  his  great  name  and  distinguished  devotion 
prevented  the  gossip  that  her  conduct  might  otherwise  have 
provoked.     She,  in  turn,  held  him  in  highest  esteem. 

Slowly  the  travelers  gathered  for  the  trip  in  Pierrotin's 
coach.  First  appeared  a  woman,  once  handsome  but  now 
shabby  in  her  poverty,  accompanied  by  her  son,  who  showed 
evidences  of  a  mother's  hand  in  his  attire,  which  was  patched 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 15 


226  A   START  IN  LIFE 

and  outgrown.  She  commended  this  lad  to  Pierrotin's  care, 
and  gave  him  maternal  injunctions  as  to  his  behavior,  which 
embarrassed  him.  These  two  were  Madame  Clapart  and  Oscar 
Husson,  her  son  by  a  former  marriage.  Madame  Clapart 
had  been  one  of  the  Aspasias  of  the  Directory,  but  was  now 
living  in  extreme  poverty  with  her  incapable  husband,  her  only 
friend  being  the  Presles  steward,  IMoreau,  whom  she  had  known 
in  her  youth,  who  constantly  visited  her  and  made  her  sub- 
stantial presents  of  produce  from  his  farm.  The  boy,  Oscar, 
was  of  an  age  when  ignorance  and  folly  combined  to  make  him 
absurd.  Moreau  had  suggested  a  trip  to  his  own  home  as  an 
eye-opener  to  life,  and  this  journey  was  the  result. 

After  the  mother  and  son  came  two  young  men,  gay  and 
well  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion.  Oscar  listened  to  their 
witty  comments  on  his  own  and  his  mother's  appearance  in  an 
agony  of  shame,  and  begged  her  to  shorten  her  farewells  and 
advice.  A  stout  farmer  arrived,  and  two  other  young  men,  and 
Pierrotin  began  packing  them  into  the  coach  and  put  up  the 
wooden  bar.  It  was  past  the  time  for  starting,  but  Pierrotin 
lingered,  making  one  excuse  and  another.  At  last  an  elderly 
man  with  a  red  face  and  very  white  hair  arrived  and  took  the 
last  place  inside.  This  was  the  Comte  himself,  and  Pierrotin 
recognized  him,  but  the  others  took  him  for  no  one  in  particular, 
as  he  was  plainly  dressed  and  unpretentious  in  manner.  The 
coach-doors  were  then  closed,  and  with  much  noise  and  bustle 
the  comical  vehicle  was  off. 

In  a  French  coach,  the  passengers,  after  they  take  some  pre- 
liminary observations  of  each  other,  all  talk.  One  of  the  well- 
dressed  young  men,  Georges  by  name,  quickly  decided  that 
he  was  the  superior  man  of  the  party,  and  set  out  to  amuse  him- 
self by  hoaxing  them.  He  told  them  that  he  had  been  in  com- 
mand of  the  troops  under  Ali,  the  Pasha  of  Janina.  His  tales 
increased  in  splendor  as  the  others  interpolated  ejaculations, 
and  he  wound  up  by  describing  his  seraglio  in  the  East  and  his 
sensations  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  The  Comte  took  this  in 
with  a  twinkling  eye,  and,  observing  the  name  "  Maitre  Crottat" 
on  his  portfolio,  took  advantage  of  the  descent  of  the  others  to 
get  luncheon  at  an  inn  to  peep  inside  this  portfolio.  He  there 
discovered  the  deed  of  sale  intended  for  his  purchase  of  the 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  227 

Molineaux  farms,  which  proved  the  young  man  to  be  the 
attorney's  clerk.  The  Comte  quietly  appropriated  this  paper 
and  closed  the  portfolio  again. 

On  reentering  the  coach,  one  of  the  other  young  men  fol- 
lowed Georges's  example,  and  amused  the  company  with  re- 
lating his  adventures.  He  declared  himself  to  be  Schinner, 
the  great  painter,  and  told  tales  of  Venice  and  his  amours  and 
escapades  there.  The  Comte,  greatly  amused,  put  in  an  occa- 
sional comment.  Oscar  felt  his  spirits  sink  in  envy  and  tried 
smoking  a  cigar,  which  made  him  ill. 

At  last  the  conversation  turned  on  the  projected  sale  of  the 
farms.  The  Comte  in  an  undertone  reminded  Pierrotin  of  his 
wish  to  remain  incognito,  and  promised  to  pay  the  whole  thou- 
sand francs  for  his  new  coach  if  he  would  keep  still  and  let  the 
others  talk  to  their  hearts'  content.  The  old  farmer,  who  was 
Leger  himself,  had  not  been  able  to  refrain  from  boasting  of 
his  intended  bargain,  and  between  the  gettings  out  and  in  to 
relieve  the  horses  up  the  hills,  and  the  various  conversations 
with  innkeepers,  he  got  full  evidence  of  his  steward's  dis- 
honesty, to  his  great  sorrow. 

Oscar  became  more  excited  as  the  conversation  turned  on 
matters  of  which  he  knew  something.  Finally,  exasperated  at 
their  slighting  tone  toward  himself,  he  dashed  in  and  informed 
the  assembly  that  he  was  intended  for  a  career  of  diplomacy. 
He  was  of  noble  blood,  he  said.  They  jeered  at  him,  and  re- 
minded him  of  his  mother's  shabby  appearance.  He  then  de- 
clared her  to  be  the  housekeeper,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
Presles  on  a  visit  to  the  Comte  de  Serizy.  "  Schinner  "  blushed 
at  this,  and  the  others  looked  at  him  with  interest.  Elated  at 
having  at  last  made  an  impression,  he  totally  lost  his  head  and 
betrayed  the  most  intimate  secrets  of  the  Comte's  life,  the  facts 
of  which  he  had  overheard  during  Moreau's  confidential  talks 
with  his  mother,  Madame  Clapart.  When  he  at  last  made 
some  comment  on  the  Comtesse,  the  Comte  stopped  him  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  and  almost  immediately  left  the  coach,  making 
ironical  farewells  to  the  passengers,  but  without  disclosing  his 
identity.  When  they  reached  Presles,  no  one  felt  quite  com- 
fortable, except  Pierrotin,  who  looked  forward  on  the  morrow 
to  his  thousand  francs  and  his  new  coach. 


228  A  START  IN  LIFE 

The  Comte  was  indeed  wounded  to  the  depths  of  his  heart. 
The  dishonesty  of  his  steward  appeared  sHght  in  his  estimation 
compared  with  the  discussion  of  the  tragedies  of  Ms  own  sor- 
rows, which  must  have  taken  place  for  this  boy  to  have  got 
hold  of  them.  He  wept  bitter  tears,  his  last,  as  he  pursued  his 
way  through  a  by-path  to  his  estate. 

The  master  dropped  on  the  household  at  Presles  like  a  shell 
from  a  mortar.     He  approached  the  gamekeeper's  hut  and  said  : 

*'Is  Moreau  here?     I  see  his  horse  waiting." 

"No,  Monseigneur,  but  as  he  is  going  over  to  Les  Moulineux 
before  dinner,  he  left  his  horse  while  he  ran  over  to  give  some 
orders  at  the  house." 

At  this  confirmation  of  the  steward's  guilt,  the  Comte  ordered 
the  gamekeeper  to  go  immediately  to  Farmer  Margueron  with 
a  note  demanding  his  immediate  presence  at  dinner,  forestalling 
the  steward,  whom  he  encountered  shortly  afterward,  to  the 
latter's  confusion. 

"Well,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Comte,  who  remained  sitting, 
but  allowed  Moreau  to  stand,  "so  we  cannot  come  to  terms 
vdth  Margueron." 

"At  the  present  moment  he  wants  too  much  for  his 
farm." 

"But  why  should  he  not  come  over  here  to  talk  about  it?'* 

"He  is  ill,  Monseigneur " 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Comte,  assuming  a  terrible  expression, 
"what  would  you  do  to  a  man  whom  you  had  allowed  to  see 
you  dress  a  wound,  and  who  went  off  to  make  game  of  it  with 
a  street  trollop?" 

"  I  should  give  him  a  sound  thrashing." 

"Listen,  Monsieur  Moreau.  You  have,  I  suppose,  dis- 
cussed my  affairs  with  Madame  Clapart,  for  little  Husson  was 
giving  to  the  passengers  in  a  public  conveyance  information 
about  them  this  very  morning.  In  addition,  I  heard  from 
Farmer  Leger's  own  lips  of  the  plan  concocted  with  regard  to 
the  farms  at  Molineux.  ...  It  is  unpardonable.  To  strike 
at  a  man's  interest  is  nothing,  but  to  strike  at  his  heart!  Ah, 
you  do  not  know  what  you  have  done." 

The  Comte  covered  his  face  and  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"I  will  leave  you  in  possession  of  what  you  have.     As  a 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  229 

point  of  dignity,  wc  will  part  without  quarreling.  I  cannot 
forget  what  your  father  did  for  mine." 

The  Comte  and  Moreau  went  downstairs,  Moreau  as  white 
as  the  Comte's  hair,  M.  de  Serizy  calm  and  dignified. 

The  Comte,  somewhat  later,  put  through  the  sale  with 
Margueron,  and  entertained  his  whilom  companions  at  dinner, 
rallying  them  on  their  efforts  at  amusement,  and  displaying  the 
deed  of  sale  to  the  crestfallen  Georges,  taken,  unknown  to  him, 
from  his  own  portfolio,  in  the  presence  of  M.  Crottat,  who  had 
come  down  himself  by  a  later  coach;  as  well  as  congratulating 
the  noble  Schinner,  who  turned  out  to  be  Joseph  Bridau,  a 
young  artist  sent  down  to  do  some  of  the  decorating. 

Oscar,  dumb  with  misery  and  helpless  with  fright,  was 
dragged  into  the  Comte's  presence  by  the  enraged  Moreau,  to 
be  dismissed  with  contempt  by  the  nobleman  and  later  sent 
home  to  his  mother,  with  a  note  relating  the  affair,  and  telling 
her  that  she  need  expect  no  more  assistance  from  the  humiliated 
steward  in  his  education,  as  he  was  hopeless  from  stupidity  and 
conceit. 

Madame  Clapart  was  in  despair  at  her  son's  return  and  the 
news  that  he  had  lost  Moreau's  friendship  and  patronage,  for 
to  the  latter  she  had  looked  for  the  young  man's  start  in  life. 
There  was  but  one  possible  direction  in  which  she  could  now 
turn:  this  was  to  her  first  husband's  brother-in-law,  a  retired 
silk- merchant.  Monsieur  Cardot.  This  old  gentleman  had 
settled  the  silk  business,  a  flourishing  concern,  on  his  eldest 
daughter,  whose  husband,  Camusot,  managed  it  admirably, 
and  had  given  portions  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs  each 
to  his  younger  children.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had  settled  a 
large  sum  on  himself  in  an  annuity,  so  that  he  was  able  to  live 
in  great  comfort  in  his  old  age.  This  little  old  gendeman, 
plump,  rosy,  square,  and  hearty,  was  always  as  neat  as  a  pin, 
and  was  a  person  of  much  gallantry  toward  the  ladies.  He, 
in  fact,  amused  himself  quietly,  for  to  him  the  charming 
Mademoiselle  Florentine,  of  the  Comedie,  looked  for  support. 
Madame  Clapart  had  always  been  on  the  polite  terms  of  the 
poor  relation,  and  never  had  asked  him  for  help.  But  this  was 
her  only  course  in  the  present  emergency.  Accordingly,  she 
and  her  son  called  one  morning,  and,  finding  M.  Cardot  in  his 


230  A   START  IN  LIFE 

garden,  were  invited  to  stay  to  breakfast.  She  found  him  to 
be  unexpectedly  good-natured,  and  he  promised  to  pay  Oscar's 
expenses  in  studying  law,  mingling  the  promise  with  salutary 
advice;  for  he  had  been  a  hard  worker  in  his  younger  years 
and  knew  the  principles  of  success. 

Accordingly,  Oscar  was  introduced  to  Monsieur  Desroches, 
a  hard-working  attorney,  and  began  a  career  of  great  industry, 
which  he  hated,  but  could  not  escape  from.  He  worked  dili- 
gently in  this  office  for  two  years,  being  under  the  particular 
charge  of  Godeschal,  the  head  clerk,  a  young  man  of  good 
principles,  who  took  a  friendly  interest  in  keeping  the  boy  up 
to  the  mark.  Oscar,  however,  longed  for  some  variety  and 
fun,  and  on  the  appearance  of  Georges  Marest  at  the  office,  the 
young  man  who  had  so  influenced  him  to  boasting  while  on  the 
journey  to  Presles,  he  became  more  and  more  restless  under  the 
restraints  of  drudgery  and  hard  work. 

Frederic  Marest,  Georges's  cousin,  was  the  latest  clerk  to 
appear  in  the  office.  He  was  summoned  to  give  the  Bien- 
venue,  or  welcome,  the  breakfast  which  every  new  pupil  must 
give  the  old  boys,  according  to  the  traditions  of  Parisian  law- 
offices.  Godeschal  left  a  book,  contrived  ingeniously  to  ap- 
pear an  ancient  ritual  of  office  customs,  on  Frederic's  desk.  He 
looked  at  it,  laughed,  but  did  not  take  the  hint.  Georges 
appeared  soon  afterward,  and  told  them  his  cousin  would  not 
ask  them  to  breakfast,  but  that  he  would  invite  them  to  a  supper 
at  the  grand  Marquise  de  la  Florentina's.  This  lady,  put 
forward  as  a  Spanish  aristocrat,  was  only  the  Mademoiselle 
Florentine  who  was  the  pet  and  favorite  of  old  M.  Cardot,  and 
who  contrived  to  amuse  herself  very  well  with  Georges  Marest 
and  his  gay  set  of  friends.  The  clerks,  delighted  with  this  in- 
vitation, accepted  in  a  body. 

Oscar,  while  hating  his  work,  had  done  it  faithfully,  and 
had  come  to  be  looked  upon  with  respect  by  his  employer. 
Maitre  Desroches,  the  day  of  the  supper,  had  given  him  five 
hundred  francs  to  take  to  a  client.  By  some  mischance,  he  had 
not  been  able  to  conclude  this  business,  and  was  obliged  to 
carry  the  money  to  the  supper  at  Mademoiselle  Florentine's. 
Oscar  looked  forward  to  a  day  of  perfect  bliss.  He  had  new  and 
grand  clothes,  and  he  was  going  to  see  the  world  of  fashion  for 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  231 

the  first  time.  Apart  from  this,  however,  he  had  an  instinctive 
dislike  of  Georges  Marest,  who  was  so  closely  connected  with 
the  circumstances  of  his  great  humiliation  at  Presles. 

This  dislike  melted  away  as  the  twelve  young  men  sat  at 
the  gay  supper-table,  and  later  were  led  into  the  sumptuous 
rooms  of  the  pseudo  Marquise.  The  wine  went  to  the  poor 
boy's  head,  and  the  scene  dazzled  his  vision.  When  the  cards 
were  produced,  he  easily  put  up  a  hundred  francs,  his  entire 
property,  and  naturally  lost  it  at  once.  Tempted  then,  beyond 
resistance,  he  put  up  his  employer's  five  hundred  francs,  and 
this  also,  in  the  ups  and  downs  known  so  well  to  gamblers,  was 
forfeited,  together  with  a  thousand  francs  more,  borrowed  from 
the  good-natured  Florentine.  Dazed,  bewildered,  and  despair- 
ing, overcome  with  champagne,  at  the  end  of  the  evening  Oscar 
sank  in  a  deep  sleep  on  a  sofa,  where  he  was  allowed  to  stay, 
and  soon  was  forgotten  by  all. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by 
a  terrible  sound — the  rasping  voice  of  Papa  Cardot,  chiding 
pretty  Florentine  for  her  extravagance.  She  had  managed  to 
fool  the  old  gentleman  back  into  good  humor,  when  he  caught 
sight  of  his  protege,  whom  he  had  recommended  to  a  life  of 
hard  work  and  self-denial,  extended  on  the  sofa.  An  admirable 
scene  ensued,  as  Florentine  pulled  the  young  man  up  by  the 
elbow  and  half  choked  with  laughing  as  she  saw  the  hangdog 
look  of  uncle  and  nephew. 

"You  here,  nephew?" 

"Ho,  ho,  he  is  your  nephew.  Whatever  is  to  become  of  the 
poor  boy?" 

"Whatever  he  pleases,"  said  the  old  man  dryly. 

"Wait  a  moment.  Papa  Cardot.  Who  is  to  pay  the  fifteen 
hundred  francs  he  owes?" 

Cajoled  and  threatened  by  Florentine,  Cardot  handed  his 
nephew  five  hundred  francs,  with  which  to  repay  his  master, 
and  told  him  to  begone  and  never  show  himself  to  him  again, 
promising  scornfully  to  repay  Florentine  herself  the  thousand 
she  had  lent  him. 

Oscar  was  indeed  miserable,  deprived  of  his  last  bene- 
factor; and  when  at  last,  by  some  mischance,  Desroches  dis- 
covered his  theft  before  he  had  time  to  repay  it  with  his  uncle's 


232  A   START   IN   LIFE 

money,  and  discharged  him  peremptorily,  his  misfortunes,  in- 
duced by  his  own  folly,  were  at  the  crushing  point. 

Oscar,  to  his  mother's  despair,  was  thus  brought  to  the 
last  resort  of  a  French  youth  and  obliged  to  enlist  as  a  common 
soldier.  Humbled  and  sobered,  he  followed  faithfully  from 
this  time  the  precepts  of  wisdom  and  common  sense.  His  con- 
duct was  so  satisfactory  that  he  became  quartermaster  in  his 
regiment  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  and  by  an  act  of  great  bravery, 
in  which  he  lost  an  arm,  gained  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
and  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel.  In  this  action  his  superior 
officer  was  the  son  of  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  and  in  this  way  the 
Comte  was  led  to  forgive  him  his  folly  on  the  ride  to  Presles. 

Years  afterward,  there  was  another  ride  from  Paris  to 
Presles,  the  same  passengers  finding  themselves  together  once 
more.  It  was  hard  to  recognize  in  the  one-armed,  bronzed 
Oscar,  carrying  his  mother  proudly  on  his  arm,  the  foolish  boy 
who  had  played  the  bravado  years  before.  Georges  Marest 
was  there  also,  showing  by  his  shabby  gentility  that  he  had 
run  through  his  income  of  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Joseph  Bridau,  now  a  painter  of  renown,  was  going  down  to 
marry  the  daughter  of  Farmer  Leger,  who  had  become  a  million- 
aire and  had  married  the  daughter  of  Reybut,  Moreau's  success- 
or. Monsieur  and  Madame  Moreau  occupied  the  coup6,  together 
with  their  daughter  and  son-in-law,  the  Baron  de  Canalis,  a 
peer  of  France.  The  ex- steward  had  prospered  by  his  shrewd- 
ness, and  his  wife  had  seen  her  social  ambitions  all  gratified. 

As  for  Oscar,  under  the  powerful  patronage  of  the  Serizy 
family,  he  was  going  down  to  take  the  office  of  Collector  at 
Presles.  Later  he  would  be  promoted  to  be  Receiver- General. 
He  married  Pierrotin's  daughter.  The  former  driver  had  ac- 
quired the  ownership  of  the  entire  diligence  system  and  was 
able  to  give  his  daughter  a  fine  dowry.  The  Camusots,  Oscar's 
relatives,  recognized  him,  and  his  mother  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  son  a  respected  and  successful  man.  The  results 
of  the  journey  to  Presles  had  given  him  discretion,  the  evening 
at  Florentine's  had  disciplined  his  honesty,  the  hardships  of 
military  life  had  taught  him  the  value  of  social  distinctions  and 
submission  to  fate.  He  became  prudent,  capable,  and  conse- 
quently happy. 


MODESTE    MIGNON    (1844) 

This  story  was  first  printed  in  the  Journal  des  Debats,  in  three  numbers. 
It  appears,  from  a  long  letter  written  early  in  that  year,  to  Madame  Hanska, 
VEtrangere,  to  whom  the  story  is  dedicated,  that  the  central  idea  of  it  was  hers, 
rather  than  Balzac's.  He  actually  wished  her  to  write  the  story  and  let  him 
print  it  over  his  own  name.  Many  efforts  have  been  made  to  discover  who  sat  to 
Balzac  for  the  portrait  of  De  Canalis.  Opinions  fluctuate  between  Lamartine 
and  Chateaubriand.     It  is  most  probable  that  the  picture  is  composite. 


JHARLES  MIGNON,  the  last  survivor  of  the 
family  to  whom  Paris  owes  the  street  and  the 
hotel  built  by  Cardinal  Mignon,  had  for  his 
father  a  crafty  man  who  wished  to  save  his  es- 
tate of  La  Bastie  (a  fief  under  the  counts  of 
Provence)  from  the  clutches  of  the  Revolution. 
He  therefore  vanished  on  the  9th  of  Thermidor, 
was  placed  on  the  list  of  emigres,  and  the  fief  of 
La  Bastie  was  sold.  But  he  was  discovered  at 
Orange  and  killed,  with  his  wife  and  all  his  children,  with  the 
exception  of  one  son,  Charles,  who  thus  became  the  sole  repre- 
sentative of  the  ancient  family.  When  this  young  man  came 
to  the  age  of  three-and-twenty,  he  had  developed  into  a  fine 
and  noble  youth,  with  a  beauty  of  person  equal  to  that  of 
Antinoiis.  He  entered  the  army,  and  there  met  and  formed  a 
friendship  with  Anne  Francois  Dumay,  a  young  bourgeois. 
The  two  were  friends  through  many  adventures  in  the  wars  of 
Napoleon,  having  passed  through  imprisonment  in  Siberia 
together,  and  proved  each  other  in  a  devotion  that  should  last 
through  life. 

In  one  of  the  episodes  of  war,  Charles  Mignon  had  been 
quartered  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  where  he  had  won  the 
love  of  the  beautiful  heiress,  Bettina  Wallenrod,  and  married 
her.  They  had  four  children,  of  whom  but  two  daughters 
survived.  Bettina's  father  became  involved  in  unfortunate 
investments  and  died  just  before  Charles's  return  from  Na- 
poleon's  last   terrible   expedition   to   Russia,   in    181 5.     Thus 

233 


234  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Charles  found  himself  with  his  wife's  dowry  as  the  sole  capital 
with  which  to  begin  life  again.  He  decided  on  a  banker's  and 
shipowner's  career,  and  chose  Havre  as  the  field  of  his  opera- 
tions. He  became  very  successful,  and  after  some  years  built 
a  beautiful  villa  at  Ingouville,  that  suburb  of  Havre  which, 
built  high  in  terraces,  overlooks  the  sea.  Somewhat  lower  than 
the  Villa  Mignon,  he  built  a  charming  little  chalet  for  the  occu- 
pation of  his  friend  Dumay,  giving  him  a  lease  for  twelve  years. 
After  some  years  of  prosperity  he  failed,  in  consequence  of  a 
series  of  disasters,  and  was  obliged  to  sell  the  villa  and  grounds 
to  a  Monsieur  Vilquin.  The  lease  he  had  given  to  Dumay, 
however,  held  good,  and  his  wife  and  two  daughters,  Bettina 
and  Modeste,  found  there  a  comfortable  though  unpretentious 
home.  Charles  Mignon,  with  indomitable  courage,  imme- 
diately embarked  on  a  voyage  to  the  East,  determined  to  re- 
trieve his  fortunes,  leaving  his  family  in  charge  of  the  faithful 
Dumay,  together  with  the  task  of  discharging  all  the  obligations 
of  the  firm. 

There  was  the  beginning  of  a  tragedy  in  the  Mignon  family, 
even  before  Charles  IMignon  sailed  away.  The  oldest  daugh- 
ter, Bettina,  beautiful  with  a  dark  Spanish  beauty,  had  been 
induced  to  leave  her  home  with  a  young  man  who  had  been 
the  privileged  guest  of  her  father  and  mother.  This  betrayal 
of  all  the  sacredness  of  hospitality  had  filled  the  father's  heart 
with  bitterness.  The  family  had  managed  to  make  excuses 
for  the  daughter's  absence,  saying  that  she  had  been  sent  south 
for  her  health.  When  the  financial  disaster  came  she  was  still 
away  from  home,  and  Charles,  in  parting  from  the  faithful 
Dumay,  gave  him  as  an  inviolable  trust  his  remaining  daughter, 
Modeste,  to  be  guarded  from  ever  speaking  to  a  young  man,  or 
even  looking  upon  one.  After  her  father's  failure  and  de- 
parture, the  elder  daughter,  Bettina,  returned,  ill  indeed,  and 
deserted  by  her  lover,  only  to  die  in  the  little  chalet.  At  this 
crowning  misfortune  of  her  life,  the  gentle  mother  had  yielded 
to  a  month  of  solitude  and  weeping,  with  the  result  that  her 
eyes  gave  way  and  she  became  totally  blind. 

It  was  a  sad  and  simple  little  household  in  which  Modeste 
grew  from  girlhood  to  womanhood.  Fulfilling  her  father's 
orders,   Dumay  guarded  her  from  all  male  society.     His  in- 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  235 

junctions  were  absolute.  "If  any  man,  of  whatever  age  or 
rank,  speaks  to  her,"  he  said,  "he  is  a  dead  man.  I  will  blow 
his  brains  out  and  surrender  myself  to  the  public  prosecutor." 

Modeste  grew  into  a  type  of  exquisite  and  angelic  beauty, 
devoted  herself  to  her  blind  mother,  and  satisfied  the  cravings 
of  an  active  and  imaginative  mind  with  indiscriminate  reading. 
The  notary  and  his  wife,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Latournelle, 
and  a  man  named  Gobenhiem,  came  nearly  every  evening  for 
a  rubber  of  whist,  and  at  half-past  ten  the  party  would  break 
up  for  the  night.  Butscha,  a  dwarf,  and  clerk  in  the  notary's 
othce,  came  also,  frequently. 

Thus  guarded,  it  would  seem  that  the  demon  of  unrest 
could  never  enter  the  young  girl's  heart.  But  one  day,  while 
Madame  Dumay,  the  American  wife  of  the  faithful  guardian, 
was  giving  Modeste  the  little  diversion  of  a  long  walk,  Madame 
Mignon  held  council  with  her  only  friends,  Madame  Latour- 
nelle, the  notary,  and  Dumay. 

"Listen,  my  friends,"  she  said,  "my  daughter  is  in  love.  I 
feel  it.     I  see  it.     A  strange  change  has  come  over  her." 

"Bless  my  stars!"  Dumay  exclaimed. 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me.  For  the  last  two  months  Modeste 
has  dressed  herself  with  care,  as  if  she  were  going  to  meet  some- 
one. She  has  become  excessively  particular  about  her  shoes. 
Some  days  the  poor  child  is  gloomy  and  watchful,  and  then 
again  she  is  gay.  You  cannot  discern  these  shades.  Her 
cheerfulness  betrays  itself  in  the  tones  of  her  voice.  Oh,  my 
friends,  I  have  learned  to  know  happiness  as  well  as  grief.  By 
the  kiss  my  poor  Modeste  gives  me  I  can  guess  what  is  going  on 
in  her  mind.  Though  I  am  blind,  my  affection  is  clairvoyant, 
and  I  implore  you — watch  my  daughter!" 

At  this,  all  constituted  themselves  spies  over  poor  Modeste. 
She  never  was  alone  for  a  moment.  But  they  could  find  no 
accusing  clue.  Unless  she  were  in  love  with  the  nightingales 
in  Vilquin's  park,  or  with  some  goblin  prince,  she  could  have 
seen  no  one. 

None  of  the  persons  about  the  girl  understood  her,  for,  in 
truth,  her  heart  and  her  lovely,  innocent  face  were  in  unison. 
She  had  transplanted  her  life  into  the  world  of  the  imagination. 
She  could  be  silent,  or  she  would  have  been  thought  mad.     She 


236  MODESTE  MIGNON 

had  learned  the  world's  ways  by  observing  the  conduct  of 
friends  who  had  thrown  the  family  over  after  their  loss  of  wealth, 
including  the  man  to  whom  her  father  had  betrothed  her.  Her 
sister,  in  dying,  had  given  her  glimpses  of  what  love  is  and  had 
said  words  that  had  sunk  deep  in  the  girl's  heart.  She  lived 
entirely  in  her  imagination,  creating  to  satiety  lovers,  experi- 
ences, and  adventures  for  herself.  This  satiety  flung  her  at 
last  into  a  love  of  goodness  and  of  heaven.  She  fancied  that 
by  becoming  irreproachable,  in  the  Catholic  sense,  she  might 
achieve  such  saintliness  that  God  would  grant  her  desires.  "I 
only  ask  God  to  send  me  a  husband,"  thought  she. 

She  adored  genius.  She  longed  to  become  the  wife  of  some 
great  man,  to  sink  her  life  in  his,  to  sacrifice  herself  to  his  great- 
ness. Her  world  of  feeling  finally  took  shape  in  the  determina- 
tion to  marry  an  artist  or  a  poet;  but  first  to  subject  him  to 
thorough  study  before  giving  him  her  heart. 

She  thus  led  a  double  life.  While  performing  her  simple 
duties,  her  mind  was  definitely  fixing  her  fate.  Madame  Mi- 
gnon,  who  read  her  soul,  was  right.  Modeste  was  in  love,  but 
only  with  that  Platonic  sentiment  so  rare — the  first  illusion  of 
girlhood,  the  subtlest  of  feelings,  the  heart's  daintiest  morsel. 

A  trifling,  foolish  accident  sealed  her  fate.  On  a  book- 
seller's counter  one  day  she  saw  a  portrait  of  De  Canalis,  one 
of  her  favorite  poets.  She  at  once  chose  him  to  love,  as  ful- 
filling her  dreams.  But  was  he  married  ?  Taking  her  maid  into 
her  confidence,  she  posted  a  letter  to  his  publisher,  politely  re- 
questing him  to  let  her  know,  in  the  interests  of  the  poet,  whether 
he  were  married  or  no.  This  person  could  hardly  take  the 
matter  seriously,  and  placed  the  letter  in  the  hands  of  several 
journalists,  who  concocted  a  reply,  asserting  with  much  rodo- 
montade that  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  commenting  on  his  cir- 
cumstances, his  political  standing,  and  other  details. 

Modeste  was  not  discouraged  by  this,  but  began  a  corre- 
spondence, which  the  foppish  poet  regarded  with  indifference 
and  handed  over  to  his  friend  and  secretary,  Ernest  de  la 
Briere,  a  man  of  sensibility  and  worth  of  soul.  In  the  secre- 
tary's reply  to  Modeste's  first  note  he  tried  to  dissuade  her 
from  a  correspondence  with  an  unknown  poet,  telling  her  that 
a  poet  was  but  a  man,  and  in  this  instance  a  Parisian,  and 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  237 

that  her  appreciation  of  his  genius  might  be  misunderstood. 
Modeste  replied  to  this  in  a  manner  showing  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart  so  rare,  although  in  her  girlish  innocence  she  said 
many  unwise  things,  that  De  la  Briere  became  more  and  more 
interested,  and  finally,  totally  forgetting  that  he  was  playing 
the  part  of  poet,  he  went  down  to  Havre  one  day  and  followed 
the  maid  as  she  took  the  letter  from  the  post,  and  saw  Modeste 
at  a  window.  He  returned  to  Paris,  resolving  that,  rich  or 
poor,  if  she  had  a  noble  soul  he  would  gladly  make  her 
Madame  de  la  Briere;  and  he  determined  to  carry  on  the 
correspondence. 

Many  letters  passed  between  Modeste  and  the  young  De  la 
Briere,  masquerading  under  the  name  of  De  Canalis,  the  poet. 
The  poor  private  secretary's  really  heroic  feelings  gave  them- 
selves rein  in  these  letters,  and  the  young  girl  poured  forth  her 
soul  with  no  reserve.  At  last  she  bade  De  la  Briere  come  to 
Havre  the  next  Sunday,  and  to  be  at  service  in  the  cathedral 
with  a  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  that  she  might  see  him  be- 
fore promising  to  marry  him.  De  la  Briere,  who  was  handsome, 
dressed  himself  with  care,  not  forgetting  the  rose,  and  obeyed 
her  behest.  Modeste,  in  the  greatest  agitation,  disguised  her- 
self as  an  old  woman,  and,  attending  service,  saw  the  adorable 
De  Canalis,  as  she  believed  him  to  be,  and  found  in  his  appear- 
ance the  complete  realization  of  her  dreams.  The  sight  of  his 
melancholy  and  pleasing  personality,  dressed  in  the  latest  of 
Parisian  fashions,  removed  her  last  doubt,  and  she  determined 
to  send  the  letter  that  should  give  him  the  right  to  claim  her 
as  his  wife. 

Just  at  this  time  Monsieur  Dumay  received  a  letter  from 
Charles  Mignon  containing  the  information  that  he  was  return- 
ing with  a  fortune  of  seven  million  francs.  He  bade  Dumay  to 
keep  secret  the  fact  of  his  great  wealth,  admitting  that  he  had 
made  a  modest  fortune,  and  told  him  that  his  intention  was  to 
choose  desirable  sons-in-law,  and  to  petition  the  King  to  settle 
his  name  and  titles  upon  one  of  these  latter.  At  the  time  of 
writing  he  did  not  know  of  the  death  of  his  oldest  daughter, 
Bettina.  He  intended,  he  wrote,  to  land  at  Marseilles,  to  pub- 
lish the  report  that  his  daughters  would  have  about  two  hundred 
thousand  francs'  dowry,   and   to  devote  himself  to   deciding 


238  MODESTE  MIGNON 

which  of  his  sons-in-law  should  be  most  worthy  to  inherit  the 
real  wealth,  titles,  and  repurchased  estate  of  La  Bastie. 

Modeste  was  happy  at  the  thought  of  her  father's  return, 
but  disturbed  that  her  dowry  was  to  be  no  larger.  She  had 
written  her  supposed  poet  that  she  was  to  have  six  millions  of 
francs;  for,  although  he  had  written  that  he  had  hoped  to  find 
her  poor,  as  it  was  his  wish  to  make  his  own  fortune  rather  than 
to  depend  on  a  wife,  she  longed  to  endow  him  with  wealth. 
She  was  ecstatically  happy,  and  her  joy  overflowed  in  musical 
improvisation,  an  art  in  which  she  was  skilled  to  the  verge  of 
genius.  Her  joyous  moods  and  wonderful  singing  filled  her 
guardians  with  suspicion,  particularly  her  ever-brooding  mother. 
They  talked  much  about  the  mysterious  lover,  who  seemed  so 
certainly  to  be  the  object  that  inspired  these  manifestations, 
but  who  was  so  elusive.  The  appearance  of  the  fashionably 
dressed  stranger  at  church  had  not  escaped  their  observation. 
Suspicion  turned  in  his  direction,  but  La  Butscha,  the  dwarf, 
who  loved  Modeste  with  an  all-consuming  passion  himself, 
became  her  friend  and  ally  and  declared  this  person  to  have 
been  an  architect  come  down  to  estimate  some  repairs. 

Having  seen  the  supposed  De  Canalis,  Modeste  wrote  an 
imprudent  letter,  fully  abandoning  the  reserve  she  had  hitherto 
preserved  and  confessing  fully  the  love  in  her  heart.  At  the 
same  time  she  wrote  one  to  her  father.  On  going  out  to  post 
them,  she  met  Dumay,  and  at  his  demand  gave  him  the  letter 
she  had  written  to  her  lover,  supposing  it  to  be  the  one  for  her 
father.  In  this  way  the  whole  truth  came  out,  and  Modeste 
proudly  acknowledged  everything. 

Dumay  at  once  set  out  for  Paris  to  face  De  Canalis.  In  the 
meantime,  De  la  Briere  had  written  Modeste  a  letter,  in  which 
he  confessed  his  masquerading,  and  told  of  his  deep  love  for  her 
and  his  hope  that  she  was  poor,  so  that  he  might  aspire  to 
win  her. 

Dumay,  on  reaching  Paris,  found  De  Canalis  living  in  sump- 
tuous style  in  a  fashionable  quarter.  Intimidated  by  such 
magnificence,  he  asked  him  his  intentions  in  regard  to  Made- 
moiselle Mignon.  The  poet  scornfully  assured  him  of  his 
ignorance  of  such  a  person,  and  pointed  to  a  casket,  full  of 
adoring  letters  from  lovely  women,  which  he  declared  himself 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  239 

to  be  too  noble  to  destroy  or  to  use  for  lighting  his  cigars. 
Dismayed,  the  old  soldier  took  his  leave. 

De  la  Briere  then  entered  the  poet's  room  and  confessed  his 
part  in  the  affair,  adding  that  he  was  fortunate  in  it,  as  he  had 
not  only  won  a  lovely  girl,  but  a  fortune  of  six  million  francs 
as  well,  as  he  had  just  heard  from  a  banker  that  she  was  daugh- 
ter of  Comte  de  la  Bastie,  and  would  have  that  sum.  Her 
father  was  in  Paris  and  had  sent  for  him  to  come  and  see  him. 
De  Canalis  was  instantly  stricken  with  regret  that  he  should 
have  missed  this  glorious  fate,  and  was  furious  at  his  ill  luck,  in 
that  he  had  not  detected  the  golden  gleam  under  the  first 
anonymous  letter  of  poor  Modeste. 

The  Comte  de  la  Bastie  had  heard  from  Dumay  the  par- 
ticulars of  his  eldest  daughter's  death,  his  wife's  blindness,  and 
Modeste's  imbroglio.  He  was  a  stricken  man,  but  the  one  ray  of 
hope  was  in  the  excellent  character  of  the  young  De  la  Briere. 
He  received  the  lover  with  dignity.  During  a  long  conversa- 
tion he  detected  his  worth,  and  told  him  his  daughter  should 
be  his.  Then  De  la  Briere  confessed  the  deception  he  had  prac- 
tised. The  Count  assured  him  that  that  was  something  beyond 
his  jurisdiction.  His  daughter  believed  herself  to  be  in  love 
with  a  poet.  It  was  for  her  to  overlook  or  not  the  fraud  that 
had  been  worked  upon  her.  Fixing  upon  him  a  keen  look, 
he  said  that  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  That  was  for  him- 
self and  the  poet  to  go  down  to  Havre  in  their  true  characters, 
telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  Modeste  had  but  two  hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  pledging  him  not  to  reveal  this  latter  fact 
to  De  Canalis,  and  let  Modeste  choose  between  them  herself. 

The  two  young  men  accordingly  prepared  for  an  extended 
visit  at  Havre,  De  Canalis  believing  Modeste  to  have  six  million 
francs  and  De  la  Briere  two  hundred  thousand.  De  Canalis 
took  a  magnificent  villa  and  many  servants,  giving  out  that  he 
needed  the  baths,  and  bringing  with  him  his  friend  and  secre- 
tary. Monsieur  de  la  Briere. 

Before  their  arrival,  Charles  Mignon  took  his  daughter  for 
a  walk  and  talked  long  and  kindly  to  her  of  her  imprudence, 
and  endeavored  to  show  her  the  real  value  of  De  la  Briere,  with 
whom  she  was  incensed  to  fury  because  of  his  deception. 

Thus  there  were  to  be  two  avowed  suitors  for  the  hand  of 


240  MODESTE   MIGNON 

Mademoiselle  Mignon,  to  whom  was  immediately  added  a  third, 
the  Due  d'Herouville,  adorned  with  many  titles  and  an  impover- 
ished purse.  This  young  man  had  some  noble  qualities,  but 
was  small  and  timid,  and  had  two  elderly  sisters  who  were  of 
an  indomitable  family  pride  and  determined  to  marry  him  to 
Modeste  and  her  reputed  millions  and  title.  She  perceived 
his  value  as  an  offset  to  the  pretensions  of  De  Canalis  and  De 
la  Briere,  for  her  intelligence  was  fully  awake  now  to  the  fact 
that  her  love  and  pride  had  been  cruelly  wounded  in  the  trick 
played  upon  her.  The  comedy  of  The  Heiress  about  to  be 
played  at  the  chalet  might  truly  be  called  by  the  name  Modeste 
gave  it  in  jest,  a  competition,  for  she  w^as  resolved,  after  the 
overthrow  of  her  illusions,  to  give  her  hand  only  to  the  man 
whose  character  should  prove  thoroughly  satisfactory. 

De  Canalis  at  first  carried  off  all  the  honors.  Parisian  to 
the  core,  man  of  the  world,  handsome  and  a  poseur,  a  poet, 
adored  and  flattered  by  the  great  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  his 
patroness,  with  a  gift  of  conversation  and  a  habit — all-conquer- 
ing in  the  salons  of  Paris — of  declaiming  his  own  verse,  the 
actual  poet  captured  the  girl's  fancy  nearly  as  the  imagined  one 
had  by  correspondence.  Through  her  skilful  handling  of  the 
affair,  however,  all  were  somewhat  in  doubt,  and  De  la  Briere 
became  more  and  more  the  \dctim  of  a  true  devotion. 

One  evening  he  was  walking  alone  by  the  sea,  indulging 
his  unhappiness,  when  the  dwarf  Butscha  joined  him,  and  told 
him  much  that  he  had  learned  in  his  visit  to  Paris  concerning 
the  private  life  of  De  Canalis.  He  confessed  his  own  love  for 
Modeste  and  his  determination  to  watch  over  her.  He  had 
discovered,  by  talking  with  his  cousin,  the  Duchesse  de  Chau- 
lieu's  maid,  that  this  great  lady  would  never  forgive  De  Canalis 
his  desertion  of  herself,  and  that  the  latter  was  a  ruined  man 
unless  he  married  Modeste  and  her  millions.  Butscha  opened 
this  conversation  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  out  the  secretary 
and  discovering  still  more,  if  possible,  of  De  Canalis's  char- 
acter; for  his  love  for  Modeste  was  so  great  that  he  deter- 
mined to  see  to  it  for  himself  that  she  married  a  man  worthy 
of  her. 

Later,  the  devoted  dwarf  had  a  conversation  with  Modeste 
in  which  he  showed  her  that  he  read  her  soul  like  a  book,  and 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  241 

asked  her  whether,  should  she  discover  a  change  in  De  Canalis 
when  he  learned  of  the  smallness  of  her  real  fortune,  she  would 
still  insist  upon  making  him  her  husband.  The  girl  did  not 
reply,  but  Butscha  knew  he  had  planted  a  thought  in  her  mind. 

Butscha  accordingly  spread  the  rumor  that  Charles  Mignon's 
fortune  was  greatly  overrated,  and  that  Modeste  would  have  a 
dowry  of  but  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  This  news  caused 
De  Canalis  instantaneously  to  change  and  to  withdraw  his  suit. 
He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  whose  favor 
he  hoped  it  was  not  yet  too  late  to  regain. 

Eleonore,  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  was  a  grande  dame,  who 
retained  her  magnificent  beauty,  unimpaired,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-six.  Made  wretched  and  furious  at  the  desertion  of  De 
Canalis,  she  gladly  believed  in  the  sincerity  of  his  words  of  re- 
pentance. The  rumor  came  to  her  ears  that  Modeste  was  rich 
but  not  beautiful,  so  she  was  all  the  more  inclined  to  forgive 
the  recreant  poet. 

She  accordingly  wrote  De  Canalis  a  magnanimous  letter, 
in  which  she  informed  him  that  she  had  intended  to  marry  him 
to  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie,  whom  she  understood  from  her 
father's  banker  to  be  worth  eight  thousand  francs.  De  Canalis, 
once  more  upset  in  his  calculations,  tore  off  that  part  of  the 
letter  relating  to  the  Duchess's  wish  to  marry  him  to  Modeste, 
and  gave  it  to  the  latter,  in  order  to  prove  to  her  that  his  re- 
lations with  the  Duchess  were  simply  those  of  friendship,  and 
strove  by  judicious  behavior  to  regain  the  ground  he  had  lost. 

De  la  Briere  had  given  Modeste  a  magnificent  riding-whip, 
whose  jeweled  handle  had  cost  him  all  his  savings.  This  the 
girl  had  coldly  resigned  to  her  father's  keeping.  The  D'Herou- 
ville  faction  were  making  active  efforts  to  win,  and  had  arranged 
that  her  father  and  she  should  receive  an  invitation  to  a  royal 
hunt  in  Normandy,  where  her  head  should  be  turned  with  the 
magnificence  of  what  the  Duke  could  command  for  his  wife. 

At  this  hunt  all  the  opposing  factions  met.  The  Duchesse 
of  Chaulieu,  on  beholding  the  amazing  beauty  of  Modeste, 
hated  her,  and  showed  her  hatred  as  only  a  great  lady  can,  un- 
der the  mask  of  graciousness.  She  gave  De  Canalis  to  under- 
stand that  it  must  be  a  choice  between  her  and  the  beautiful 
heiress.     De  Canalis,  greatly  agitated  that  Modeste  still  pos- 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 16 


242  MODESTE  MIGNON 

sessed  the  part  of  the  letter  the  Duchess  had  written,  announc- 
ing her  intention  of  marrying  him  to  her,  implored  his  friend 
De  la  Bri^re  to  get  it  for  him  from  the  girl,  as  if  the  Duchess 
discovered  it  to  be  in  her  possession  all  would  be  over  for  him. 

The  secretary  approached  Modeste,  and  walking  down  the 
superb  suite  of  apartments  placed  at  the  disposal  of  herself  and 
her  father,  made  known  the  poet's  desire.  Modeste  made  no 
objection  and  gave  the  incriminating  scrap  of  paper  into  his 
hand,  with  a  good-natured  but  contemptuous  message  for  the 
poet,  whose  character  she  now  thoroughly  understood. 

The  aristocratic  society  gathered  at  this  hunt  pleased 
Modeste.  She  instinctively  assimilated  everything  that  gave 
distinction  to  the  Duchesses  of  Maufrigneuse  and  De  Chaulieu; 
but,  in  the  midst  of  this  Olympus,  she  discovered  that  her  father 
and  De  la  Briere  were  infinitely  superior  to  De  Canalis.  The 
great  poet,  abdicating  his  claim  to  real  and  indisputable  power 
— that  of  the  intellect — was  nothing  but  a  Master  of  Appeals, 
eager  to  become  a  Minister,  anxious  for  a  collar  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor,  and  obliged  to  subserve  every  constellation.  Ernest 
de  la  Briere,  devoid  of  ambition,  was  simply  himself,  while  her 
father,  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie,  proud  of  his  services  and  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon's  esteem,  was  simple  in  dignity  and  easy 
in  speech.  Feeling  her  regard  for  De  la  Briere  deepen,  Modeste 
felt  it  her  duty  to  put  an  end  to  the  struggle  the  Due  d'Herou- 
ville  was  making  for  the  honor  of  her  hand,  and,  telling  him  at 
the  same  time  that  he  had  no  firmer  friends  than  her  father  and 
herself,  she  spoke  truthfully  as  to  the  state  of  her  real  feelings 
toward  him.  To  her  little  speech  the  Duke  replied  with 
dignity: 

"You  are  a  noble  girl,  and,  though  it  breaks  my  heart  to 
be  no  more  than  your  friend,  I  shall  glory  in  the  title,  and 
prove  it  to  you  wherever  and  whenever  I  find  occasion." 

On  the  occasion  of  a  grand  hunt,  the  Duchesse  de  Chau- 
lieu, feeling  it  beneath  her  dignity  to  sulk  longer  with  a  young 
person  of  Modeste's  pretensions,  when  the  victory  in  regard 
to  De  Canalis  remained  on  her  own  side,  drew  near  her  horse, 
and  remarked  the  beauty  of  the  jeweled  whip  she  carried  in  her 
hand. 

"You  will  confess,  Madame,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  la 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  243 

Bastie,  with  a  mischievous  but  tender  glance  at  De  la  Briere, 
in  which  he  could  read  an  avowal,  "that  it  is  a  very  strange 
gift  as  coming  from  a  future  husband — " 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse.  "I  should 
regard  it  as  a  recognition  of  my  rights,  remembering  Louis  the 
Fourteenth." 

There  were  tears  in  De  la  Briere's  eyes ;  he  dropped  his  bridle 
and  was  ready  to  fall;  but  another  look  from  Modcste  recalled 
him  to  himself,  by  warning  him  not  to  betray  his  happiness. 

When,  later,  Modeste's  mother,  by  a  fortunate  operation, 
regained  her  eyesight,  and  could  at  last  see  Ernest  de  la  Briere, 
she  murmured  in  Modeste's  ear:  "I  should  have  chosen  him!" 

Toward  the  end  of  February  all  the  documents  relating  to 
the  acquisition  of  the  estates  were  signed,  and  the  transmission 
of  the  title  and  arms  was  made  to  De  la  Briere,  who  was  author- 
ized to  call  himself  the  Vicomte  de  la  Briere.  The  wedding, 
which  took  place  at  the  same  time,  was  the  beginning  of  a  long 
life  of  happiness  for  both,  and  Modeste,  who  kept  her  promise 
of  avoiding  all  the  absurdities  of  pedantry,  became  the  pride 
and  delight  of  her  husband,  of  her  family,  and  of  her  circle  of 
friends. 


COUSIN    BETTE    (1846) 

Cousin  Bette,  written  by  Balzac  toward  the  end  of  his  career,  was  published 
in  The  Constitutionnel,  in  instalments,  between  October  8  and  December  3,  1846, 
and  was  produced  to  get  money  to  pay  off  his  indebtedness.  The  strenuous 
labor  it  involved,  coming  after  the  severe  Hterary  strain  of  the  preceding  years, 
is  thought  to  have  broken  even  Balzac's  gigantic  strength.  Cousin  Bette  and 
Cousin  Pons  (which  followed  it  in  The  Constitutionnel,  after  a  few  months)  are 
comprised  under  the  title:  The  Poor  Relations.  Balzac  dedicated  this  to  the 
Prince  of  Tcano,  Michele  Angelo  Cajetani,  through  admiration  for  his  commen- 
taries on  Dante,  which,  Balzac  declared,  had  made  the  Divina  Commedia  in- 
telligible to  him.  Brunetiere  says  that  the  Monarchy  of  July  lives  anew  in 
Cousin  Bette. 

;ECT0R  HULOT  D'ERVY,  a  young  French- 
man in  the  commissary  department  of  the  army, 
clianced,  through  his  official  duties,  to  meet 
Adehne,  daughter  of  a  Lorraine  peasant  named 
Andrew  Fischer.  This  girl  of  sixteen  was  so 
wondrously  beautiful  that  Hulot  married  her  as 
quickly  as  the  law  would  permit.  He  was  as 
strikingly  handsome  as  his  wife,  and  (in  this  her 
exact  opposite)  quite  a  gallant.  For  a  long  time 
this  lovely  woman  commanded  his  entire  devotion,  while  she, 
the  peasant  girl,  raised  to  such  social  eminence  and  so  adored 
by  this  superb  man,  held  him  as  a  god  who  could  do  no 
wrong. 

Hulot  rose  to  high  dignities.  He  had  a  marshal's  baton 
and  was  a  great  authority  in  the  war-office.  Now,  after 
twelve  years.  Baron  Hulot  lived  in  a  fine  residence  and  was 
wealthy.  His  infidelities  to  Madame  Hulot  dated  from  the 
finale  of  the  Empire,  when,  having  no  official  occupation,  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  ladies.  His  beautiful  wife,  although 
a  saintly  being,  shut  her  eyes  to  all  that  her  husband  did  outside 
his  home. 

Constantin  Hulot,  their  son,  had  married  the  plain  daugh- 
ter of  a  rich  retired  perfumer,  a  bourgeois  widower  of  fifty, 
named  Celestin  Crevel.     This  conceited  man,  who  imitated 

244 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  245 

Napoleon's  poses,  also  imitated  the  Emperor  in  Napoleon's 
admiration  for  Adeline,  but  she  had  promptly  repelled  his 
amorous  advances.  A  marriage  had  been  arranged  between 
Hortense  Hulot,  her  daughter,  and  Counselor  Lebas,  which 
Cr^vel  blocked  by  intimating  to  the  lawyer  that  Hulot  could 
not  supply  the  marriage  portion  of  his  daughter.  Hulot  had 
stolen  away  Cr(^vel's  mistress,  a  beautiful  young  Jewess  named 
Josepha,  who  was  now  a  singer  at  the  Op6ra.  This  was  an 
added  reason  why  Cr^vel  desired  to  win  Adeline.  She  sum- 
moned him  to  an  interview  to  remonstrate  with  him,  and  asked 
him  whether  he  would  have  ruined  her  daughter's  marriage 
by  his  remark  about  the  lack  of  money  for  her  dot^  if  she,  Ade- 
line, had  listened  to  his  suit. 

"I  could  not,"  he  rephed.  "For  then  you  would  have  had 
the  sum,  dearest  Adehne — in  my  pocketbook!" 

Adeline  dismissed  him,  more  troubled  than  ever.  Hor- 
tense had  reached  twenty-three  years  of  age  and  it  was  impera- 
tive that  she  should  be  married.  Cr^vel  had  told  Adeline  that 
the  most  likely  husband  for  Hortense,  in  their  straitened  cir- 
cumstances, would  be  a  clever  young  man  who  would  take 
Hortense  penniless.  The  girl  often  talked  about  a  lover  with 
Lisbeth  Fischer,  her  mother's  cousin,  who  was  always  called 
"Cousin  Bette." 

This  old  maid  of  forty-five  was  a  lean,  brown,  peasant 
woman,  with  thick  eyebrows,  strong  limbs,  and  a  bitter,  jealous, 
vindictive  disposition.  Adeline's  success  had  made  her  re- 
sentment intense,  but  she  did  not  betray  her  feeUngs.  When 
Adeline  was  settled  in  Paris  after  her  marriage,  she  had  invited 
Cousin  Bette  there  to  try  to  find  a  husband  for  her.  But  the 
offers  Lisbeth  got  did  not  suit  her.  She  had  learned  a  trade 
and  supported  herself.  As  her  rent  in  an  obscure  part  of  Paris 
was  very  cheap,  and  she  had  her  dinners  at  the  Hulots'  and  with 
other  connections  of  the  family,  she  had  even  managed  to  lay 
by  a  little  money. 

Hortense  often  teased  Cousin  Bette  about  having  a  lover. 
One  day,  after  the  mortifying  ruin  of  Hortense's  projected  mar- 
riage, the  old  maid  met  the  mockery  of  the  other  by  stating 
that  she  had  as  lover  a  fair  young  Polish  count,  who  was  a 
sculptor,  named  Wenceslas  Steinbock.     Later,  as  proof,  she 


246  COUSIN  BETTE 

brought  a  little  statuette  of  his  making  and  showed  it  to  Hor- 
tense  and  Adeline. 

Hortense  became  so  interested  in  this  young  man  that  she 
went  to  the  art-shop  where  his  work  was  exhibited.  She  ad- 
mired a  piece  very  much,  but  declared,  rather  sadly,  that  the 
price  was  beyond  her  purse.  Steinbock  chanced  to  be  in  the 
shop,  and  hearing  this,  introduced  himself  and  said  she  could 
have  it  at  her  own  price.  Hortense  was  at  once  captivated  by 
his  beauty  and  charm,  to  which  Cousin  Bette  had  not  done 
justice.  .  She  coyly  asked  him  to  bring  it  to  her  father's  house, 
and  added:  *'Do  not  mention  the  purchase  to  Mademoiselle 
Fischer.     She  is  our  cousin." 

He  called  promptly,  and  in  a  short  time  the  Hulots  felt  that 
here  was  a  solution  to  the  problem  of  Hortense's  marriage. 
This  poor  nobleman,  whose  talent  enabled  him  to  support  a 
wife,  would  ask  no  dot.  Hulot  promised  to  secure  for  him  the 
commission  to  make  a  statue  which  the  State  was  to  erect  to 
Marshal  Montcornet.  There  was  no  scruple  on  anybody's  part 
about  Cousin  Bette's  claim  upon  this  youth.  She  was  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother,  and  had  admitted  that  he  was  to  her 
a  sort  of  pleasant  plaything.  She  learned  of  the  engagement 
from  an  unlooked-for  source. 

Hector  Hulot,  in  escorting  Cousin  Bette  home  one  evening, 
saw  a  very  charming,  daintily  dressed  young  woman  enter  the 
Rue  du  Doyenne.  A  glance  that  passed  was  enough  to  fire  him, 
and  since  Josepha  had  cast  him  off  he  felt  the  need  of  just  such 
a  woman  "friend."  She  was  Madame  Valerie  Marneffe,  the 
natural  child  of  the  deceased  Marshal  Montcornet,  and  her 
worthless  husband  was  a  clerk  in  the  war  office,  of  which  Hulot 
was  the  head.  It  was  very  easy  for  the  two  to  meet,  and  after 
a  little  Valerie  had  seemed  to  be  swept  away  by  her  affection 
for  Hulot.  It  was  not  long  before  he  had  established  the  Mar- 
neffes  in  a  house  in  the  Rue  Varennes.  In  three  years  Valerie 
was  costing  him  more  than  Josepha  had. 

Valerie,  through  Hulot,  learned  of  the  engagement  of  Wen- 
ceslas  Steinbock  and  Hortense  and  naturally  spoke  of  it  to 
Cousin  Bette.  Valerie  had  known  and  admired  the  young 
Pole  herself  and  thought  Bette's  interest  in  him  was  only 
philanthropic.    The  storm  of  rage  and  diabolical  hatred  toward 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  247 

Madame  Hulot  to  which  Cousin  Bette  gave  way  when  she 
learned  that  the  Hulots  had  stolen  the  Pole  from  her  was  a 
revelation.  But  it  led  to  the  two  women,  each  with  decided 
designs  on  the  Hulots,  swearing  a  solid  friendship  for  each  other ; 
and  Cousin  Bette  went  to  live  in  the  Marneffes'  house  in  the 
Rue  de  Varennes.  This  helped  Valerie  to  cloak  her  mercenary- 
intrigues.  There  was  a  very  "respectable"  note  about  the 
household.  A  trust-fund  of  Marshal  Montcornet  for  his 
daughter  was  invented  to  account  for  the  Marneffes'  changed 
style  of  living.  Crevel  was  carried  away  by  Valerie  because  she 
was  a  lady ;  and  he  soon  imagined  that  he  had  supplanted 
Hulot  in  the  beauty's  favor,  although  the  opinion  cost  him 
several  thousand  francs.  Valerie  was  simply  playing  off  one 
against  the  other. 

The  situation  was  complicated  by  the  unexpected  arrival  at 
Valerie's  one  evening,  when  Hulot  and  Crevel  were  there,  of 
a  dashing  Brazilian,  Baron  Montes  Montejanos.  He  was  the 
only  man  Valerie  had  ever  really  loved. 

"Oh,  my  cousin!"  cried  Valerie,  rising  to  greet  the  new- 
comer. The  ardent  South  American  drove  Hulot  and  Crevel 
distracted  by  his  marked  attentions  to  her.  Finally  Marneffe 
whispered  in  Valerie's  ear,  and  she  withdrew  with  him  and 
the  Brazilian.  After  a  few  moments  she  returned  and  de- 
clared that  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels  which  was  heard  in- 
dicated the  new  arrival's  departure.  Then,  while  Crevel  was 
playing  cards  with  Marneffe,  Valerie  whispered  to  Hulot  to  go 
and  to  walk  up  and  down  outside  until  Crevel  came  out.  Mar- 
neffe retired,  and  Crevel  remonstrated  sharply  with  Valerie. 
She  treated  him  haughtily  and  soon  had  him  at  her  feet  again. 
Then  she  authorized  him  to  tell  Hulot,  whom  she  said  he  would 
find  in  the  street  waiting  for  a  signal  to  return,  that  she  was 
tired  of  him  and  loved  Crevel.  "He  will  not  believe  you. 
Take  him  to  the  Rue  du  Dauphin  and  give  him  every  proof. 
Crush  him,"  she  cried. 

Crevel  did  as  ordered,  and  Hulot  was  convinced  of  Valerie's 
infidelity  to  him.  Both  were  discomfited  at  her  trifling  with 
them,  but  Valerie  was  now  too  engrossed  with  Baron  Montes 
to  care  what  they  felt.  She  had  one  sincere  regret.  She  had 
not  yet  avenged  Cousin  Bette  on  Hortense! 


248  COUSIN  BETTE 

"Make  your  mind  easy,  my  pretty  little  devil,"  said  Lisbeth, 
kissing  her  forehead.  ''Hortense  is  in  beggary.  For  a  thou- 
sand francs  you  may  have  a  thousand  kisses  from  Wenceslas." 

It  was  indeed  true.  Easy  success  had  made  Steinbock  in- 
dolent and  neglectful.  He  was  severely  criticized.  Cousin  Bette 
insinuated  that  Madame  Marneffe  would  lend  him  money, 
but  Hortense  could  not  brook  his  appealing  to  her  father's  mis- 
tress to  aid  them.  Then  Lisbeth  suggested  to  him  that  he  could 
go  without  letting  Hortense  know.  Steinbock  went.  Valerie 
had  arranged  everything — dinner,  guests,  and  toilet,  with  a 
view  to  winning  him.  She  loaned  him  ten  thousand  francs, 
refusing  any  interest,  but  suggesting  that  he  should  make  a 
bronze  statuette  for  her  of  Delilah  cutting  off  Samson's  hair. 

"Such  a  group,  and  one  of  the  ferocious  Judith,  epitomizes 
Woman,"  she  cried  gaily.  "Virtue  cuts  off  your  head  and  Vice 
only  cuts  off  your  hair.     Take  care  of  your  wigs,  gentlemen!" 

"Your  vengeance  is  secure,"  she  whispered  to  Lisbeth  later. 
"  Hortense  will  cry  herself  blind,  and  curse  the  day  she  robbed 
you  of  Wenceslas." 

"I  shall  not  think  myself  successful  until  I  am  Madame 
la  Marechale  Hulot,"  replied  Lisbeth.  "They  are  beginning 
to  wish  this." 

She  had  made  Hulot's  family  feel  that  if  Hector's  elder 
brother — a  glorious  Marshal  of  Napoleon's  and  a  superb  old 
bachelor  of  flawless  honor — would  marry  her,  she  would  be 
able  to  help  them  when  Hector's  excesses  had  utterly  stranded 
them.  It  was  her  dream  of  revenge  to  see  them  all,  some  day, 
eating  out  of  her  hand. 

Hortense  discovered  Wenceslas's  visits  to  Valerie  and  made 
such  a  scene  that  he  did  not  go  near  Madame  Marneffe  for  three 
weeks.  This  made  Valerie  hate  Hortense  as  bitterly  as  Lisbeth 
did.  At  this  juncture  a  serious  incident  arose,  which  she  put 
to  the  greatest  profit.  One  morning  she  announced  to  Mar- 
neffe that  he  was  to  become  a  father!  Then  she  wrote  a  letter 
of  reproach  to  Wenceslas,  which  she  contrived  to  have  Hortense 
receive.  When  that  tender  wife  read  this  love-letter,  which 
called  him  back  with  this  appeal:  "You  missed  fire  with  my 
father's  statue,  but  in  you  the  lover  is  greater  than  the  artist, 
and  you  have  had  better  luck  with  his  daughter.    You  are  a 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  249 

father,  my  beloved  Wenceslas!"  she  clutched  her  infant  son 
and  fled  to  her  mother's  protection. 

Ten  minutes  after  writing  this  letter  Valerie  had  breathed 
into  Hulot's  ear  that  he  was  a  father,  and  secretly  conveyed  the 
news  of  his  paternity  of  the  infant,  a  little  later,  to  Crevel.  The 
real  father  was  the  Brazilian,  Baron  Montes. 

Matters  were  becoming  desperate  for  Hulot.  Just  at  this 
time  he  received  word  from  Johann  Fischer,  Adeline's  uncle, 
whom  he  had  sent  to  Algiers  to  thieve  for  him  there,  that  the 
Government  was  investigating  the  expenditures  in  his  depart- 
ment in  Algiers,  and  that  he  could  send  him  no  more  money. 
Marneffe  was  insolently  pressing  him  for  the  promised  chief- 
clerkship,  and  as  it  was  impossible  for  Hulot  to  arrange  that, 
he  was  shut  out  of  the  Marneffe  household. 

These  trials  and  dangers  actually  made  Hulot  pass  a  fort- 
night in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  apparently  a  reclaimed  man. 
But  the  active  Cousin  Bette  brought  him  the  key  of  the  Rue  du 
Dauphin,  and  he  met  Valerie  there.  The  next  morning  Mar- 
neffe and  officers  of  the  law  broke  in  upon  the  guilty  pair  and 
discovered  Hulot's  letter  from  Valerie  declaring  his  paternity, 
which  she  had  left  on  the  table  where  they  could  not  help 
seeing  it. 

The  matter  was  hushed  up  through  a  high  dignitary  who 
had  been  Hulot's  friend  in  Napoleon's  days.  But  Marneffe  got 
his  clerkship.  Lisbeth  said  she  could  not  remain  in  Madame 
Marneffe's  house,  however,  after  such  scandals  became  known ! 
So  she  went  to  be  Marshal  Hulot's  housekeeper,  and  ten  days 
later  the  banns  of  marriage  were  published  for  them.  Her 
revenge  seemed  at  hand,  for  she  would  be  Adeline's  superior. 
The  whole  family  continued  to  regard  her  as  their  rescuing 
angel. 

Another  letter  from  Johann  Fischer  demanded  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  prevent  the  peculations  that  he  and  Hulot 
had  committed  from  being  found  out.  He  declared  he  would 
not  live  to  be  tried  as  a  disgraced  man.  Hulot  fell  almost  life- 
less at  this  blow.  Adeline  saw  the  letter,  read  it,  and  the  dis- 
honor which  had  been  brought  upon  her  honest  peasant  family 
was  such  a  shock  to  her  that  for  the  rest  of  her  life  the  poor 
woman  never  was  free  from  a  nervous  trembling.    In  his 


250  COUSIN  BETTE 

despair,  Hulot  groaned  aloud  that  Crevel  was  the  only  one  who 
could  help  them. 

A  fearful,  sublime  possibility  of  rescue  was  suggested  to  the 
devoted  wife  by  the  mention  of  Crevel  and  of  the  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  needed!  This  pure  woman,  faithful  wife,  and 
honored  mother,  sent  for  Crevel,  prepared  to  sacrifice  more 
than  life  for  her  uncle  and  her  husband.  The  bitterest  cup 
she  ever  had  drained  awaited  her.  Crevel  came,  heard  her, 
and  said,  striking  a  pose: 

"When  I  offered  you  that  money,  I  was  only  seeking  re- 
venge on  Hulot  for  stealing  Josepha  from  me.  I  have  since 
had  a  finer  revenge.  For  his  mistress — a  lady! — has  been 
mine  for  three  years,  and  when  Marneffe  dies  I  am  going  to 
marry  her.  Valerie  only  endured  Hulot  until  her  husband  got 
his  chief-clerkship,  and  now,  as  she  says — for  she  is  awfully 
witty — she  'restored  you  your  Hector,  virtuous  in  perpetuity.'  " 

The  remorse  and  heart-breaking  humility  of  Madame  Hulot 
over  such  shame  and  failure  actually  moved  Crevel  to  promise 
to  aid  her.  But  on  his  way  to  get  the  securities  he  called  on 
Valerie,  who  found  out  his  purpose  and  jeered  at  him  so  that 
he  abandoned  it. 

Johann  Fischer  killed  himself  after  being  arrested.  When 
Marshal  Hulot  learned  what  shame  and  dishonor  Hector  had 
brought  on  them  all,  he  took  him  home  with  himself,  neither  of 
them  uttering  a  word  on  the  way.  Then  the  grand  old  soldier, 
ushering  his  infamous  brother  into  the  library,  took  a  box  con- 
taining a  pair  of  pistols,  the  inscription  on  the  lid  reading: 
"Given  by  the  Emperor  Napoleon  to  General  Hulot,"  and 
showing  it  to  Hector,  curtly  remarked :  "  There  is  your  remedy." 

Lisbeth,  peeping  through  the  door,  saw  this  significant 
scene,  rushed  off,  and  returned  with  Madame  Hulot.  Adeline, 
the  picture  of  despair,  fell  into  Hector's  arms,  looking  with  a 
wild  air  at  the  pistols  and  then  at  the  stern  old  soldier. 

"What  do  you  say  against  your  brother?  What  has  he 
done  to  you?"  she  cried,  in  terror  and  anguish. 

"He  has  disgraced  us  all!"  replied  the  Marshal,  with  harsh 
vehemence.  "He  has  robbed  the  Government!  He  has  cast 
odium  on  my  name.  He  has  killed  me.  I  can  only  live  long 
enough  to  make  restitution.    As  for  his  family,  he  has  robbed 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  251 

you  of  the  bread  I  had  saved  for  you  by  thirty  years  of  privation 
and  economy.  He  has  killed  your  uncle,  Johann  Fischer, 
whom  he  inveigled  into  his  thievery  from  his  country,  and  who 
could  not  endure  a  stain  upon  his  peasant  honor. 

"To  crown  all,  God  gave  him  you,  an  angel  among  women, 
for  a  wife.  He  has  deceived  you,  neglected  you,  to  waste  him- 
self and  the  fortune  due  to  his  family  upon  courtesans,  his 
Cadines,  Josephas,  and  Marneffes,  those  grasping  hussies! 
And  that  is  the  brother  I  treated  as  a  son  and  as  my  pride. 

*' Go,  wretched  man!"  he  concluded,  turning  to  Hector.  " H 
you  can  accept  the  life  of  degradation  you  have  made  for  your- 
self, leave  my  house!  I  have  not  the  heart  to  curse  you,  but 
never  let  me  see  you  again.  I  forbid  his  attending  my  funeral, 
or  following  me  to  my  grave.  Take  him  away,  for  I  hear  a 
voice  that  commands  me  to  load  my  pistols  and  blow  out  the 
brains  of  this  monster,  this  swine!  In  that  way,  I  would  save 
you  all,  and  even  save  him  from  himself." 

He  had  sprung  up  with  such  a  terrifying  gesture  that  Ade- 
line seized  her  husband's  arm,  and  crying,  "Hector — come!" 
dragged  him  away,  and,  her  heart  having  only  the  deepest  pity  for 
him,  led  the  prostrated  man  home. 

Marshal  Hulot,  although  through  influence  the  scandal  had 
been  hushed  up,  insisted  on  paying  into  the  State  treasury  his 
entire  fortune  as  restitution  for  the  sums  of  which  his  brother 
had  robbed  it.  Lisbeth  had  assented  to  this,  when  the  Mar- 
shal asked  her  consent.  In  three  days  the  noble  old  soldier 
was  dead,  despite  Lisbeth's  careful  nursing.  His  death  was 
a  thunderbolt  that  destroyed  all  that  she  had  built  up.  The 
Marshal  had  died  of  the  blows  dealt  at  the  family  by  herself 
and  her  good  friend,  Valerie.  Her  former  vindictiveness  was 
trebled,  as  she  returned,  crying  with  rage,  to  Madame  Marneffe. 

Poor  Adeline  had  felt  that  now  she  would  have  her  shattered 
and  humiliated  husband  to  herself.  She  dreamed  that  she 
would  rehabilitate  him,  lead  him  back  to  family  life,  and 
reconcile  him  with  himself.  Soon  after  his  brother's  funeral, 
he  deserted  her  and  rushed  to  his  former  mistress,  Josepha, 
imploring  her  assistance.  The  excess  of  his  extravagance,  and 
the  recklessness  with  which  he  had  plunged  into  such  depths 
for  the  Marneffe  woman,  actually  appealed  to  that  singular 


252  COUSIN  BETTE 

creature's  heart.  She  set  him  up  as  proprietor  of  an  em- 
broidery shop,  supphed  him  with  a  poor,  innocent  girl  of  six- 
teen, who  was  wonderfully  beautiful,  as  a  partner  in  the  firm, 
and  guaranteed  him  an  income. 

After  a  time,  Victorin  Hulot  had  been  made  into  a  man  by 
the  family  ruin  his  father  had  precipitated,  and  was  building  the 
Hulot  fortune  up  again.  Adeline  had  been  appointed  the  dis- 
burser  of  their  charities  by  several  wealthy  and  devout  ladies 
of  rank.  Cousin  Bette  brought  to  this  peaceful  household, 
one  morning,  the  news  that  Valerie  was  to  marry  Crevel,  and 
kindly  recounted  the  enormous  sums  he  had  already  expended 
upon  the  wretched  woman.  Lisbeth  had  counseled  Valerie, 
who  wished  to  throw  over  everybody  and  marry  Baron  Montes, 
to  marry  Crevel,  who  would  not  last  more  than  ten  years,  and 
then,  after  his  death,  to  take  Montejanos.  In  the  mean  time 
Valerie  was  quite  interested  in  Wenceslas,  which  gratified 
Cousin  Bette  and  gave  herself  the  satisfaction  of  torturing 
Hortense. 

Adeline  had  told  the  family  that  she  had  learned  Hulot  was 
in  Paris.  The  pale,  broken  wife  longed  to  have  her  wretched 
husband  share  the  present  peace  of  the  family  home.  Cousin 
Bette  had  said,  indignantly:  "I  would  wager  that  he  begs  money 
of  his  former  mistresses!" 

This  remark  haunted  Adeline,  and,  without  a  word  to  any- 
one, she  went  to  Josepha,  thinking  she  might  find  out  some- 
thing about  her  husband's  whereabouts.  That  singular  woman, 
who  in  her  fashion  had  been  kind  to  Hulot,  was  deeply  touched 
by  the  pathetic  figure  and  exquisite  wifely  devotion  of  Adeline, 
who  was  so  eager  to  find  her  husband,  now  seventy-four  years 
old,  who  had  deserted  her  two  and  a  half  years  before.  She 
promised  her  every  aid  she  could  give.  "Wait  a  few  days  and 
you  shall  see  him,  or  I  renounce  the  God  of  my  fathers — and 
that  from  a  Jewess,  you  know,  is  a  promise  of  success." 

Baron  Montes  Montejanos  frequented  the  gay  society  of 
Paris,  but  was  not  known  to  have  any  mistress.  Carabine,  a 
brilliant  demi-mondaine,  gave  a  dinner  at  the  Rocher  de 
Cancale  to  a  number  of  her  friends,  including  the  wealthy 
Brazilian.  They  hoped  to  solve  this  mystery.  A  remark  of 
Josepha,  lauding  Hulot  as  a  lover  who  had  ruined  himself  for 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  253 

his  mistress,  elicited  in  rapid  succession  the  facts  that  he  had 
done  this  for  Madame  Marneffe,  who  was  to  marry  Cr^vel,  and 
who  was  really  in  love  with  Steinbock. 

Montes  turned  pale,  and  violently  vituperated  these  calumni- 
ators. "If  you  wished  to  find  out  my  secret,"  he  concluded, 
with  a  flaming  glance  around  the  table,  "at  least,  cease  to 
vilify  the  woman  I  love." 

"I  can  prove  it  in  an  hour,"  whispered  Carabine  in  his  ear, 
when  they  had  left  the  restaurant.  As  Montes  demanded  ab- 
solute proof,  she  conducted  him  to  an  apartment  near  the 
Opera,  where  they  surprised  Valerie  and  Steinbock.  He  was 
lacing  her  stays  for  her.  Montes  had  sworn  to  Carabine  that 
if  he  found  that  Valerie  was  deceiving  him  he  would  kill  her 
in  his  own  way.  Now,  as  he  departed  from  this  scene  he 
muttered:  "I  shall  be  the  instrument  of  Divine  wrath!" 

One  morning,  some  time  after  this,  Dr.  Bianchon,  who  had 
called  at  Victorin's  to  see  hov/  Adeline  was,  spoke  of  a  wonder- 
ful case  to  which  he  had  been  called  recently:  that  of  a  man 
and  his  wife,  both  suffering  from  a  hideous  but  almost  unknown 
disease.  "The  disease  is  a  rapid  blood-poisoning,  peculiar  to 
negroes  and  the  American  tribes,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  curable 
in  Europe.  The  woman,  once  very  pretty,  is  now  a  mass  of 
putrefaction,  and  looks  like  a  leper.  The  stench  in  the  room 
is  so  intolerable  that  no  servant  will  stay  in  it.  They  are  a 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Crevel." 

Cousin  Bette  went  to  see  her  friend  at  once. 

"If  I  had  not  been  ill  myself  I  would  have  come  to  nurse 
you,"  she  said. 

"Poor  Lisbeth,  you,  at  least,  love  me  still,  I  see!"  said 
Valerie.  "I  have  only  a  day  or  two  left  to  think,  for  I  cannot 
say  to  live.  Oh,  if  I  might  only  win  mercy!  I  would  gladly 
undo  all  the  mischief  I  have  done." 

"Oh!"  cried  Lisbeth,  "if  you  can  talk  like  that,  you  are 
indeed  a  dead  woman." 

"Lisbeth,  give  up  all  notions  of  revenge.  Be  kind  to  that 
family,  to  whom  I  have  left  by  will  everything  I  can  dispose  of. 
Go,  child,  I  beseech  you,  and  leave  me.  I  have  only  time  to 
make  my  peace  with  God!" 

"She  is  wandering  in  her  wits,"  said  Lisbeth  to  herself,  as 


254  COUSIN  BETTE 

she  left  the  room.  She  returned,  however,  with  Bianchon, 
who  had  come  to  tell  Valerie  that  they  meant  to  apply  a  power- 
ful remedy  to  her,  which  held  much  promise. 

"  If  you  save  my  hfe,"  she  asked,  "  shall  I  be  as  good-looking 
as  ever?" 

^'Possibly,''''  said  the  physician,  slowly. 

"I  know  your  'possibly,'  "  said  Valerie.  "I  shall  look  like 
a  woman  who  has  fallen  into  the  fire!  No!  Leave  me  to  the 
Church.  I  can  please  no  one  now  but  God.  I  will  try  to  be 
reconciled  with  Him.  It  will  be  my  last  flirtation!  Yes,  I 
must  try  to  come  around  God!" 

"That  is  my  poor  Valerie's  last  jest.  That  is  all  herself!" 
said  Lisbeth,  in  tears. 

By  the  end  of  the  week  Madame  Crevel  was  dead,  and  two 
days  later  Crevel  expired,  impenitent.  The  order  of  their 
deaths  made  him  his  wife's  heir,  so  that  Celestine  Hulot,  his 
daughter,  recovered  the  money  he  had  lavished  on  his  mer- 
cenary mistress. 

Adeline's  charitable  work  brought  her  one  day  to  an  old 
man,  slouchily  dressed  in  a  gray  flannel  shirt  and  trousers,  who 
was  living  with  a  girl  of  the  slums.  It  was  her  once  handsome 
Hector,  who  was  perfectly  willing  to  be  taken  back  to  his  family. 
Cousin  Bette,  who  was  dying  of  consumption,  had  her  last 
days  embittered  by  the  returned  prodigal's  almost  veneration 
for  his  faithful  wife.  She  kept  her  hatred  a  secret  from  them 
to  the  end,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  all  stand 
around  her  death-bed,  mourning  her  as  the  angel  of  the  family. 

For  nearly  three  years  Baron  Hulot  continued  to  be  a  com- 
fort to  Adeline,  whose  health  greatly  improved.  Then  she 
discovered  the  old  man  trying  to  win  a  raw,  buxom  kitchen- 
wench  by  promising  to  make  her  a  baroness  when  his  wife 
should  die !  The  shock  killed  her.  On  her  death-bed,  she  whis- 
pered to  him:  "My  dear,  I  have  nothing  left  to  give  you  except 
my  life.  In  a  minute  or  two  you  will  be  free,  and  can  make 
another  Baroness  Hulot." 

On  the  brink  of  eternity  this  angel  gave  utterance  to  the 
only  reproach  she  had  ever  spoken  in  her  life.  Within  a  year 
the  Baron,  who  had  left  Paris  three  days  after  Adeline's  death, 
wedded  Agathe  Piquetard,  the  kitchen-maid. 


COUSIN    PONS    (1847) 

In  planning  the  two  novels  comprised  under  the  title  The  Poor  Relations, 
Balzac's  intention  was  to  make  Cousin  Pons  the  more  important  work.  But 
Cousin  Bette,  with  its  devilishly  vindictive  heroine,  got  such  possession  of  him 
as  to  become  the  longer  and  more  impressive  story.  Balzac  explicitly  declares, 
in  Cousin  Pon5,  that  the  two  taken  conjunctively  prove  that  "character  is  the 
chief  of  all  social  forces."  He  says  also  that  the  chief  object  of  interest,  on  the 
heroine,  so  to  speak,  in  Cousin  Pons,  "as  amateurs,  connoisseurs,  and  collectors 
will  at  once  perceive,  is  the  Pons  Collection." 

BOUT  three  o'clock,  one  October  afternoon  in 
1844,  a  singular-looking  man,  more  than  sixty 
years  old,  was  wending  his  way  along  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens,  in  Paris,  his  nose  in  the  air 
and  his  lips  pursed  up,  as  if  he  had  made  a 
good  bargain.  His  gaunt  figure  was  clothed 
with  such  a  regard  for  the  fashions  of  1806  that 
he  seemed  a  caricature  of  the  Imperial  Era.  He 
wore  black  trousers  and  three  waistcoats,  the 
outside  one  black,  the  next  white,  and  the  inside  one  red;  a 
voluminous  white  muslin  cravat,  in  which  his  chin  was  engulfed; 
and,  as  a  last  distinctive  garment,  a  hazel-colored  spencer,  which 
surmounted  a  greenish  coat  with  white  metal  buttons. 

His  face  corrected  the  tendency  to  laugh  occasioned  by  his 
costume,  for  it  was  one  from  which  no  woman  could  have 
heard  a  word  of  love  issue  without  a  burst  of  merriment,  or 
experiencing  a  recoil  of  loathing.  The  large  countenance,  under 
a  leprous-looking  old  silk  hat,  resembled  a  Roman  mask  dug 
out  of  the  earth.  It  appeared  to  have  no  bones  and  was  deeply 
pitted,  and  had  a  huge  Don  Quixote  nose  as  its  most  prominent 
feature,  while  sad,  gray  eyes  peered  forth  beneath  two  red  lines 
which  did  duty  as  eyebrows.  His  thin  legs  were  emphasized 
by  the  voluminous  trousers,  and  his  thick,  sensual  lips,  when 
they  parted,  showed  two  rows  of  pearly  teeth  which  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  shark.  This  uncouth  visage  was  illumined 
by  a  smile.    The  man  held  some  object  carefully  under  the 

255 


256  COUSIN  PONS 

two  left  skirts  of  his  coats,  as  if  to  screen  it  or  protect  it  from 
impact. 

This  grotesque  old  fellow  was  Monsieur  Sylvain  Pons,  a 
composer  who  had  been  a  Grand  Prix  winner  of  the  Academie 
de  Rome,  and  now,  in  the  autumn  of  his  life,  was  conductor  of 
an  orchestra  in  a  Boulevard  theater,  and,  thanks  to  his  ugliness, 
music-teacher  in  several  young  ladies'  boarding-schools.  His 
only  sources  of  revenue  were  derived  from  these  occupations. 

In  Rome  he  had  acquired  a  taste  for  antiquities  and  beau- 
tiful works  of  art,  with  the  result  that  he  returned  to  Paris  with 
a  collection  of  pictures,  statuettes,  carvings  in  ivory  and  wood, 
enamels,  china,  and  the  like,  which  had  absorbed  the  greater 
part  of  his  patrimony.  He  had  continued  to  collect,  and  now 
had  nearly  two  thousand  works  of  art.  They  were  his  delight, 
and  he  would  have  thought  it  a  crime  to  sell  this  Pons  Collection. 

This  passionate  collector,  whose  delicacy  and  high  moral 
nature  were  sustained  by  the  beauty  of  art,  was  the  slave  of 
that  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins  which  God  will  surely  punish 
with  less  severity  than  He  will  any  of  the  others.  Pons  was  a 
gourmand.  His  slender  means  admitted  only  a  diet  far  from 
what  his  palate  craved,  so  he  sought  its  worthier  gratification 
by  dining  out  whenever  he  could.  Naturally,  the  poor  fellow's 
value  as  a  dinner-guest  waned  as  his  years  augmented;  and 
now  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  triple  indigence  of  old  age, 
poverty,  and  intensified  ugliness  of  features,  he  was  restricted 
to  his  family  circle  for  the  gratification  of  his  gastronomic 
passion.  He  had  been  led  to  give  far  too  extensive  an  applica- 
tion to  the  limits  of  that  circle. 

In  1835,  Pons  had  found  in  friendship  some  compensation 
for  his  denial  of  conquests  with  the  fair  sex.  But  for  the  ex- 
istence of  La  Fontaine's  divine  fable,  this  history  would  have 
been  entitled  The  Two  Friends.  His  alter  ego  was  a  German 
pianist  named  Schmucke.  Never  perhaps  had  two  such  con- 
genial spirits  met  upon  the  wide  ocean  of  Humanity.  Schmucke 
was  as  absent-minded  as  Pons  was  observant.  Pons  secured 
a  place  for  this  friend  at  the  theater  where  he  conducted  the 
orchestra.  Schmucke  played  the  piano  and  had  charge  of  the 
scores.  They  lived  in  a  modest  apartment  in  the  quiet  Rue  de 
Normandie  in  the  Marais,  sharing  expenses.     They  soon  ac- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  257 

quired  the  nickname  of  "the  pair  of  nut-crackers"  among  the 
denizens  of  the  quarter.  Winter  and  summer,  they  rose  at 
seven,  and  after  breakfast  went  to  give  their  music-lessons. 
The  evening  found  them  united  again  at  the  theater.  This 
twin  existence  was  ruffled  only  by  Pons's  passion  for  dining 
out.  "If  it  would  only  make  him  vatter!"  Schmucke  would 
say  to  himself.  A  divine  serenity  mitigated  the  German's 
fearful  ugliness. 

Among  the  "relatives"  to  whom  Pons  was  restricted  as  a 
dinner-guest  at  the  period  in  which  we  have  seen  him  walking 
the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  there  was  actually  only  one  who 
merited  the  title,  and  he  was  only  a  cousin  once  removed: 
Camusot  de  Marville,  president  of  one  of  the  divisions  of  the 
Court  Royal  of  Paris.  This  gentleman's  deceased  mother  had 
been  first  cousin  to  Pons.  Their  parents  had  been  members 
of  the  rich  firm  of  Pons  Brothers,  perfumers.  Madame  Camu- 
sot de  Marville,  the  second  wife  of  this  gentleman,  never  had 
given  a  warm  reception  to  "Cousin"  Pons.  She  was  a  Cardot, 
so  Cousin  Pons  considered  the  Cardot  tribe  his  relatives, 
as  well  as  the  Chiffrevilles,  into  which  family  her  brother  had 
married,  and  through  these,  the  Popinots.  Such  was  the 
bourgeois  firmament  which  Pons  styled  his  family!  and  in 
which,  by  many  a  painful  effort,  he  had  retained  the  privilege 
of  eating  good  dinners.  The  daughter  of  Camusot  de  Mar- 
ville, Cecile,  a  rude,  red-haired  young  woman  of  twenty-three, 
whom  they  were  eager  to  marry  off,  was  as  disaffected  toward 
Cousin  Pons  as  her  virulent  mamma.  It  was  to  their  house 
that  the  old  gentleman  with  his  concealed  treasure  was  hasten- 
ing. Even  the  servants  had  caught  the  prevalent  note  toward 
the  "poor  relation,"  and  had  often  made  the  sensitive  Pons 
wince  by  their  audible  comments. 

When  Pons  arrived  this  evening,  the  mother  and  daughter 
had  planned  a  coup  which  would  rout  the  "cousin."  They 
pretended  they  had  an  engagement  but  told  him  he  could  stay 
and  dine  alone.  And  Pons  had  brought  to  this  insolent  woman 
an  exquisite,  delicately  carved  fan,  painted  by  Watteau,  and 
once  a  possession  of  Madame  de  Pompadour. 

"It  is  high  time,"  said  Cousin  Pons,  "that  what  has  been 
in  the  service  of  Vice  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  Virtue." 
A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 17 


258  COUSIN  PONS 

The  lady,  who  was  quite  ignorant  of  even  the  name  "Wat- 
teau,"  accepted  the  fan,  but  was  so  insolent  later  that,  stung 
to  the  quick.  Pons  took  his  dismissal  (for  he  felt  it  was  that), 
and  burning  with  humiliated  pride,  rushed  home,  his  wounded 
dignity  driving  him  along  like  a  straw  before  the  wind.  The 
contemptuous  epithet  of  "sponger,"  which  he  had  heard  mut- 
tered by  one  of  the  lackeys  of  the  Camusots,  scorched  him  with 
humiliation,  and  the  gentle  soul  could  hardly  restrain  his  tears. 
He  dashed  past  Madame  Cibot,  the  doorkeeper  of  the  house 
where  he  had  lodged  for  twenty-six  years,  with  no  sort  of  recog- 
nition. He  poured  his  pitiful  tale  into  Schmucke's  wholly 
sympathetic  ear,  and  said  he  would  dine  with  him.  The  loyal 
German,  enraptured,  cried  out:  "Tine  here  effery  day!  We 
will  pric-a-prack  together,  and  the  teffil  will  neffer  put  his  tail 
into  our  home." 

To  Schmucke's  perfect  joy,  they  did  have  their  dinners  to- 
gether for  four  months.  But  Pons  missed  the  refinement,  the 
choice  viands,  the  exquisite  wines,  and  the  sophisticated  con- 
versation of  those  tables  of  his  "relations."  Moreover,  paying 
for  his  dinners  diminished  by  just  so  much  his  expenditure  for 
objets  d'art.  The  loss  of  two  such  coveted  pleasures  made  the 
old  gentleman  melancholy,  and  even  his  gauntness  was  notably 
augmented. 

"I  would  giff  almost  annyting  to  zave  him,"  said  the  faithful 
Schmucke.     "He  finds  life  vearyzome." 

Fate  was  to  restore  Pons  to  his  former  status.  Count  Popi- 
not,  meeting  him  one  day,  wrung  from  him  the  reason  for  his 
disappearance,  and  promptly  acquainted  Camusot  with  this 
grievance.  Madame  Camusot,  who  was  the  meanest  of  snobs, 
immediately  threw  the  blame  upon  the  impudent  remarks  of 
the  servants.  Her  husband  required  them,  by  a  threat  of  dis- 
missal otherwise,  to  go  to  Pons  and  apologize,  which  they  did. 
Thus  Pons  found  himself  restored  to  the  delights  of  fine  dinners, 
and  the  moribund  old  man  became  the  self-contented  parasite 
once  more.  Schmucke  became  almost  ill  over  the  change,  but 
buried  his  sorrow  in  his  heart. 

Just  at  this  time,  through  his  German  friend,  Pons  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  a  wealthy  bachelor  of  forty,  Fritz 
Brunner,  and  conceived  the  idea  that  he  might  in  him  supply 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  259 

Cecile  Camusot  with  a  husband.  Plans  were  made  to  bring 
this  about,  which  seemed  quite  promising  at  first.  But  later 
the  astute  German  got  the  measure  of  the  young  woman's  char- 
acter so  well  that  he  absolutely  withdrew.  Poor  Pons  was 
made  the  scapegoat  of  this  "affront."  Madame  Camusot 
affected  to  see  in  the  negotiations  a  scheme  of  Pons  to  heap 
contumely  on  them.  It  was  an  infernal  device  which  would 
save  the  honor  of  the  family. 

"I  hope,  Monsieur  Pons,  that  for  the  future  you  will  spare 
us  the  pain  of  seeing  you  in  a  house  into  which  you  have  en- 
deavored to  introduce  shame  and  dishonor,"  she  said  venom- 
ously. "Neither  your  master  nor  myself  will  ever  be  at  home 
to  this  gentleman,"  she  continued,  speaking  to  the  servants 
and  pointing  at  Pons,  "should  he  call."  All  the  connections 
accepted  this  story,  and  poor  Cousin  Pons  became  a  pariah 
whom  they  "cut"  absolutely. 

The  innocent  man  was  ill  for  a  month  from  the  hideous  in- 
justice of  this  calumny,  and  Schmucke  was  heart-broken  at  his 
dejection.  For  the  first  time  in  his  lamblike  existence,  he  was 
roused  to  fierce  indignation,  and  called  these  maligners  "beasts." 

The  walk  on  which  Pons  had  been  scornfully  "cut"  by  the 
two  most  important  members  of  his  circle  of  "relations"  was 
the  last  he  ever  took.  He  walked  wearily  and  silently  home, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Schmucke,  took  to  his  bed,  and  was 
found  by  the  district  doctor,  Poulain,  to  be  dangerously  ill  with 
inflammation  of  the  liver.  Most  important  consequences 
flowed  from  this  doctor's  visit.  Dr.  Poulain  told  Madame 
Cibot  that,  as  her  lodger  was  too  poor  to  engage  a  nurse,  she 
would  have  to  care  for  him,  and  that,  as  he  would  be  extremely 
irritable,  nothing  must  be  done  to  fret  him,  as  it  might  cost 
Pons  his  life. 

Remonencqs,  a  lean  dealer  in  curiosities,  with  a  small  shop 
in  the  neighborhood,  had  heard  Brunner,  after  a  visit  to  Pons, 
remark,  on  leaving,  that  his  collection  was  worth  thousands 
of  francs.  He  repeated  this  to  Dr.  Poulain  and  Madame 
Cibot,  with  the  result  of  arousing  a  fierce  cupidity  in  both. 
The  doorkeeper  already  saw  herself  "well  remembered"  in 
Pons's  will!  It  practically  turned  her  from  a  negative  probity 
to   absolute  depravity   through  the  cupidity   aroused   in  her. 


26o  COUSIN  PONS 

She  began  at  once  an  aggressive  domination  of  the  invalid,  who 
was  necessarily  left  alone  in  her  charge  much  of  the  time.  She 
found  out  that  Pons  meant  to  leave  all  to  Schmucke,  to  whose 
"consideration"  he  would  recommend  her.  For  both  these 
childlike  beings  regarded  the  terrible  harpy  as  a  kind  but  rough 
creature,  genuinely  interested  in  them. 

Dr.  Poulain  recommended  her  to  consult  a  lawyer  friend 
of  his,  named  Fraisier,  a  cunning,  sordid  wretch,  adding  that 
she  had  better  feather  her  own  nest  as  best  she  could  and  then 
accept  what  Fraisier  and  himself  would  do  for  her  for  helping 
their  game.  The  doorkeeper  accordingly  misrepresented  the 
expense  and  exertion  to  which  the  care  of  the  two  old  gentlemen 
had  subjected  her,  especially  since  Pons's  illness,  and  thereby 
forced  Schmucke  into  consenting  to  the  sale  of  some  of  the 
pictures  in  order  to  indemnify  her.  Schmucke  was  as  trust- 
ful and  as  ignorant  of  business  as  a  little  child,  but  when  she 
urged  him  to  this  step  he  at  first  replied  with  simplicity:  "I 
gannot  dizpose  of  things  which  do  not  belong  to  me."  Where- 
upon Madame  Cibot  procured  a  summons,  and  the  official 
document  so  impressed  the  poor  German  that  he  said,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes:   "Sell  de  bigdures!" 

Elie  Magus,  one  of  the  greatest  collectors  in  Europe,  and 
Remonencqs  got  eight  of  the  best  paintings,  and  the  cunning 
Madame  Cibot  secured  sixty-eight  thousand  francs  for  having 
brought  about  the  transaction.  Remonencqs,  who  had  long 
coveted  a  shop  for  curios  on  the  Boulevard,  became  convinced 
that  this  shrewd  and  wealthy  woman  would  be  a  great  help  in 
conducting  it,  if  he  could  only  marry  her,  which  seemed  to  him 
very  feasible,  were  it  not  for  the  lady's  husband,  a  tailor.  To 
a  mind  like  his,  it  was  a  slight  step  to  facilitate  her  becoming  a 
widow,  and  he  managed  to  "doctor"  the  invalid  husband's 
barley-water  with  a  copper  rundle  greatly  oxidized!  There 
was  no  reason  for  suspecting  anybody  of  an  interest  in  this  old 
fellow's  demise! 

Fraisier  had  taken  care  to  frighten  Madame  Cibot  when 
she  consulted  him,  by  saying  that  Madame  Camusot,  who  was 
greatly  interested  in  her  husband's  inheriting  from  Pons  (which 
he  would  do  if  the  old  collector  failed  to  make  a  will),  was  a 
terrible  force  to  rouse  against  oneself.     He  had  instantly  con- 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  261 

ceived  a  scheme  by  which  he  could  secure  the  appointment  of 
justice  of  the  peace  for  himself,  and  that  of  head  of  a  Paris 
hospital  for  his  friend,  Dr.  Po.ulain,  should  it  "happen"  that 
Pons  died  intestate!  He  went  to  Madame  Camusot,  and,  by- 
insinuations,  which  veiled  a  covert  agreement,  set  forth  that  if 
Dr.  Poulain  should  insist  on  the  removal  of  Madame  Cibot's 
administrations  (which  he  might  do  if  he  considered  their  effect 
on  the  irritable  invalid  as  too  detrimental),  that  gentleman 
might  recover! 

Fraisier,  to  be  able  to  state  to  Madame  Camusot  de  Mar- 
ville  the  value  of  the  Pons  Collection,  had  seen  the  necessity  of 
having  it  appraised.  He  had  therefore  induced  Madame 
Cibot  to  arrange  that  he,  Elie  Magus,  and  Remonencqs  should 
do  this  at  a  time  when  Schmucke  was  absent  and  when  Pons 
was  asleep,  his  slumber  having  been  induced  by  Madame 
Cibot's  meddling  with  his  medicine.  Despite  this.  Pons  awoke, 
and  although  the  two  men  had  promptly  fled  at  his  cry  of 
"Thieves!"  when  he  saw  them,  he  recognized  Elie  Magus! 
His  suspicions  were  more  than  confirmed  when,  later,  he 
dragged  himself  to  his  gallery  and  saw  that  certain  inferior  can- 
vases from  Schmucke's  room  had  been  substituted  for  several 
of  the  most  precious  of  his  paintings !  When  he  learned  of  the 
specious  trickery  by  which  the  simple  German,  whose  one 
dominant  aspiration  was  to  have  Pons  restored  to  health,  had 
been  induced  to  sell  these,  he  fell  into  deep  pondering.  The 
result  was  to  turn  the  simple  Pons  into  a  being  of  extraordinary 
astuteness.  His  one  aim  now  was  to  convince  Schmucke  of 
the  devilish  duplicity  of  the  Cibot  woman,  in  whom  they  both 
had  been  hideously  deceived,  and  then  to  secure  his  property 
as  inalienably  as  possible  to  his  artless  but  devoted  friend. 
He  therefore  had  him  summon  a  notary,  and  drew  up  a  will 
which  was  duly  witnessed,  and  which  bequeathed  his  entire 
collection  to  the  State  if  a  certain  annuity  would  be  paid  to 
Schmucke  for  life.  He  told  Schmucke  to  keep  close  watch 
and  see  whether  Madame  Cibot  would  not  meddle  with  this 
will,  feeling  that  this  would  open  even  his  trusting  soul  to 
conviction  of  her  vileness.  Then  he  sent  for  Mademoi- 
selle Heloise  Brisetout,  danseuse  at  his  theater,  and  had  her 
send  him  a  reliable  and  learned  notary  who  would  draw  up 


262  COUSIN  PONS 

an   unassailable    will    by  which    everything    would    become 
Schmucke's. 

When  Pons  told  him  this  scheme,  the  honest  fellow  clasped 
the  hands  of  his  friend,  and  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  to  him- 
self.    Pons  asked  him  what  he  was  doing. 

"I  was  braying  to  God  to  take  us  to  Himself  togedder," 
replied  Schmucke  simply,  when  his  prayer  was  ended. 

With  great  difficulty,  for  he  was  suffering  the  acutest  pain. 
Pons  managed  to  stoop  low  and  imprint  a  kiss  on  Schmucke's 
forehead.  In  that  kiss.  Pons  poured  forth  his  whole  soul  in  a 
blessing  upon  that  being,  who  in  heart  and  mind  resembled 
the  Lamb  that  reposes  at  the  feet  of  God. 

The  scheme  worked  perfectly.  Madame  Cibot  filched  the 
will  from  the  compartment  in  the  desk  in  which  it  had  been 
locked  up,  and  took  it  down-stairs  to  show  it  to  Fraisier.  He 
recognized  how  fatal  this  will  was  to  Madame  Camusot's  in- 
terests, and  consequently  to  his  own  hopes,  since  the  agree- 
ment had  been  that  the  favors  she  would  secure  for  him  were 
contingent  on  her  mheriting.  He  promptly  substituted  a 
blank  paper  in  the  envelope,  without  letting  Madame  Cibot 
see  him  do  it,  then  sealed  it  and  restored  it  to  her.  "That 
cuts  you  off,"  he  said.  "  But  there  is  a  fire  in  the  grate!  And 
if  Pons  dies  intestate  I  will  promise  you  a  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

Madame  Cibot  returned  to  the  room  and  was  about  to 
throw  the  envelope  in  the  fire  when  Pons  and  Schmucke  gripped 
her  by  the  shoulders.  She  screamed  and  went  into  convul- 
sions. Then,  rallying,  she  declared  vehemently  that  her  act 
was  due  only  to  a  woman's  curiosity.  Schmucke  reviled  her 
as  a  monster  and  drove  her  from  the  room.  When  she  returned 
with  this  tale  to  Fraisier,  he  declared  that  she  was  liable  to 
prosecution  for  stealing  a  will!  He  then  pacified  the  terror- 
stricken  woman  by  promising  to  aid  her  if  she  would  be  sub- 
missive to  his  wishes. 

The  next  morning  Madame  Cibot's  husband,  thanks  to 
Remonencqs's  continued  interest  in  his  health,  sent  for  the 
priest  and  received  the  last  sacraments.  In  the  confusion, 
Pons's  lawyer  got  to  his  apartment,  and  the  dying  collector 
made  his  last  will  as  he  had  planned,  constituting  his  devoted 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  263 

Schmucke  his  universal  legatee.  After  which,  utterly  pros- 
trated by  the  excitement  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  and  the 
reaction,  he  called  for  a  priest  himself  and  prepared  for  death. 

When,  some  hours  later,  Madame  Cibot  sent  a  messenger 
to  see  what  was  going  on,  the  woman  was  not  permitted  to  enter 
the  room.  Fraisier,  who  was  waiting  below,  conceived  the 
idea  of  introducing  his  own  housekeeper  into  the  apartment 
as  a  watch-dog,  and  managed  to  do  this  by  having  Madame 
Cantinct,  the  wife  of  the  beadle  of  St.  Francis's  Church,  take 
her  as  an  assistant,  when,  at  the  abbe's  suggestion,  that  good 
woman  had  been  summoned  to  take  Madame  Cibot's  place 
as  attendant  on  Pons  and  Schmucke.  Just  as  they  entered  the 
room  poor  Cousin  Pons  died,  so  quietly  that  it  was  only  when 
Madame  Sauvage,  Fraisier's  housekeeper,  touched  his  hands 
that  they  learned  he  had  passed  away.  Schmucke,  agonized 
at  this  death  of  his  one  friend — and  it  was  the  first  death  he  had 
ever  seen — could  only  groan  to  any  and  every  suggestion:  "Do 
what  you  bleaze!"  This  truest  of  friends  was  to  go  through 
a  veritable  martyrdom.  He  watched  the  women  and  their 
proceedings  as  an  idiot  might  have.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  dead  face  of  his  late  companion,  whose  contour  was  puri- 
fied by  the  repose  of  death  into  something  fascinating,  and 
Schmucke  not  only  was  absolutely  indifferent  to  everything 
terrestrial,  but  felt  nothing  except  a  longing  to  die  and  join  his 
friend.  He  would  eat  nothing,  and  whenever  he  was  left  alone 
with  the  body  of  Pons,  he  held  it  clasped  in  a  close  embrace. 

A  more  facile  victim  to  the  plundering  of  everybody  who 
had  anything  to  gain  could  not  be  imagined,  and  he  was  pur- 
sued by  Fraisier  and  that  wretched  lawyer's  tools.  Touts  for 
every  sort  of  thing  connected  with  the  disposition  of  a  corpse 
swarmed  about  him  and  plucked  him.  In  his  desperation  at 
these  incessant  appeals,  which  dragged  him  from  the  thought  of 
his  dead  friend,  he  gladly  appointed  Tabareau,  an  accomplice 
of  Fraisier,  his  proxy  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  succession. 

"I  would  giff  all  dat  I  bozzezz  to  be  left  alone,"  he  sighed. 
Dame  Sauvage,  at  the  close  of  day,  found  him  stretched  across 
the  foot  of  the  bed  where  Pons  lay,  in  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaus- 
tion. She  lifted  him  like  an  infant  to  his  own  couch,  and  when 
he  awoke  Pons  was  in  his  coffin,  beneath  the  carriage  gateway. 


264  COUSIN  PONS 

Pons  had  one  mourner  besides  Schmucke — a  poor  super- 
numerary at  the  theater,  named  Topinard,  to  whom  he  had 
given  five  francs  every  month.  As  Pons's  body  vi^as  lowered 
into  the  grave,  Schmucke  swooned  with  emotion.  When  he 
had  been  revived,  Topinard  assisted  him  back  to  the  house. 
As  the  lease  of  the  apartment  was  in  Pons's  name  only,  Fraisier 
evicted  the  unfortunate  German,  who  secured  a  garret  room  in 
Topinard's  humble  lodging.  "All  I  want  is  some  nook  to  die 
in,"  he  said.  As  he  had  not  money  to  pay  for  anything  after 
the  drain  of  Pons's  illness,  he  went  to  Gandissard,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  theater,  to  get  a  month's  salary.  Gandissard,  a 
friend  of  Popinot,  and  acquainted  with  the  situation,  advised 
the  simple  German  to  compromise  with  the  legal  heirs,  who 
would  give  him  a  sum  down  and  an  annuity  for  life. 

Schmucke  assented,  and  authorized  him  to  act.  He  had 
only  two  demands. 

"Dobinard  was  Bons's  vrend.  He  is  de  only  berzon  who 
followed  him  to  de  zemetery.  I  want  tree  touzand  francs  for 
him,  and  tree  touzand  francs  for  his  nice  little  girl  with  light 
hair,  like  a  little  German  girl." 

These  conditions  were  promptly  granted.  Fraisier  had 
induced  Madame  Camusot  de  Marville  to  summon  Schmucke 
and  contest  the  will,  on  the  ground  of  his  imdue  influence  over 
Pons,  which  she  did.  Gandissard  arrived  after  him  and  told 
of  his  arrangement  with  Schmucke.  It  was  agreed  that  the 
deed  should  be  signed  the  next  day.  By  signing  this  deed, 
with  a  preamble  in  which  the  grounds  for  contesting  the  will 
were  stated,  the  poor  German  would  admit  the  justice  of  Frai- 
sier's  fearful  imputations.  As  Schmucke  was  about  to  sign, 
Topinard  arrived  with  the  summons  which  had  been  sent  to 
Schmucke  at  his  lodgings,  to  warn  the  old  German  against 
such  injustice.  Gandissard  went  out  to  meet  him,  and  in  that 
interval  Schmucke  signed  the  fatal  document.  He  came  forth 
smiling  with  the  money  in  his  hand.  "  Dis  is  for  de  little  Ger- 
man girl  and  you,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  dear  Monsieur  Schmucke,  you  have  been  enriching  a 
pack  of  monsters!  Read  that,  and  you  will  see  that  your  duty 
was  to  punish  this  wickedness  by  defending  the  action." 

Schmucke  read  the  paper.     It  was  a  mortal  blow.    He  fell 


HONORE   DE  BALZAC  265 

exhausted  into  Topinard's  arms.  He  never  recovered  his 
reason  through  the  ten  days  he  survived.  He  was  nursed  by 
Madame  Topinard  and  was  buried  obscurely  by  Topinard, 
who  was  the  only  person  to  follow  this  child  of  Germany  to  his 
last  resting-place. 

Every  one  of  the  evil  bounders  to  death  of  the  two  friends 
derived  great  advantages  from  their  villainy.  Cousin  Pons's 
Collection  went  to  adorn  Popinot's  house,  as  Cecile,  who  was 
now  his  daughter-in-law,  had  inherited  it.  One  day,  a  Russian 
nobleman,  who  was  a  collector,  asked  her  who  had  amassed 
these  exquisite  treasures  of  art. 

"A  cousin  who  was  very  fond  of  me,"  replied  the  Viscountess. 

**  Monsieur  Pons  was  a  charming  man,"  interjected  Madame 
Camusot  de  Marville,  in  her  dulcet  falsetto  voice.  "This 
Watteau  fan,  once  Madame  de  Pompadour's,  he  placed  in  my 
hands  one  morning  with  a  charming  little  phrase,  which  I  must 
not  repeat!  Such  talent  and  originality,  and  such  kindness  of 
heart !  He  used  to  dine  with  us  three  or  four  times  every  week, 
because  we  appreciated  him  so  thoroughly." 

"And  the  phrase  that  went  with  the  gift  of  the  fan?"  asked 
the  nobleman. 

"The  little  phrase  is  worthy  of  the  fan,"  said  the  Vis- 
countess (whose  "little  phrase"  was  a  stereotyped  expression). 
"He  said  to  my  mother  that  it  was  high  time  that  what  had 
been  in  the  hands  of  Vice  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of 
Virtue." 

The  nobleman  looked  at  Madame  Camusot  de  Marville 
with  an  air  of  doubt  that  was  extremely  flattering  to  so  lean  a 
lady! 

Madame  Remonencq  is  still  in  her  magnificent  shop  on  the 
Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  once  more  a  widow,  through  a 
singular  chance.  As  her  husband  had  had  the  marriage  con- 
tract drawn  up  so  that  all  the  property  should  go  to  the  sur- 
vivor, he  placed  a  liqueur  glass  of  vitriol  within  his  wife's  reach, 
expecting  that  she  would  make  a  mistake.  But  as  she,  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  changed  its  position,  it  was 
Remonencq  who  swallowed  it!  Such  a  fitting  end  for  the 
miscreant  is  an  argument  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  Provi- 
dence. 


THE    MEMBER    FOR    ARCIS    (1854) 

Le  Depute  d'Arcis  is  classed  under  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Politique  in  the 
Comedie  Humaine.  It  is  divided  into  three  sections:  1:  V Election;  II:  Lettres 
Edifiantes;  III:  Le  Comte  de  Sallenauve.  The  only  part  that  appeared  in 
Balzac's  life  was  The  Election,  which  was  published  in  L'  Union  Monarchique 
in  1847.  The  work  was  completed  by  Charles  Rabou,  who  was  chosen  by 
Balzac  to  finish  it  and  the  second  and  third  chapters  first  appeared  in  the  Con- 
stitutionnel  in  1853.  Rastignac  and  Jacques  Collins,  who  were  introduced  in 
Pere  Goriot,  appear  in  Tiie  Member  for  Arcis.  The  latter,  who  had  assumed 
the  names  of  Vautrin,  Trompe-la-Mort  (in  Pere  Goriot),  and  Herrera  (in 
lA)St  Illusions),  now  appears  in  three  characters  here:  Monsieur  de  Saint-Esteve, 
the  Marquis  de  Sallenauve,  and  Monsieur  le  Comte  Halphertius.  Dorlange  is 
a  grandson  of  Danton,  which  explains  the  Hkeness  that  everyone  noticed. 

^N  April,  1839,  about  ten  in  the  morning,  the 
drawing-room  of  IMadame  Marion,  widow  of 
a  revenue  collector  in  the  Department  of  the 
Aube,  presented  a  strange  appearance.  The 
carpet  and  all  the  furniture  had  been  removed, 
an  old  man-servant  attached  to  Colonel  Giguet, 
Madame  Marion's  brother,  had  just  finished 
sweeping,  and  the  housemaid  and  cook  were 
bringing  in  chairs  and  arranging  them  according 
to  Madame  Marion's  directions.  The  latter  placed  three  arm- 
chairs behind  the  tea-table,  which  she  covered  with  a  green 
cloth,  on  which  she  placed  a  bell. 

"We  can  seat  seventy  persons,"  she  said  to  Colonel  Giguet, 
who  now  entered. 

"God  send  us  seventy  friends,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  He 
then  inquired  for  his  son,  Simon. 

"He  is  dressing,"  she  rephed;  "he  is  very  nervous." 
"My  word!  Yes!  I  have  often  stood  the  fire  of  a  battery 
and  my  soul  never  quaked — my  body  I  say  nothing  about; 
but  if  I  had  to  stand  up  here,"  said  the  old  soldier,  placing 
himself  behind  the  table,  "opposite  the  forty  good  people  who 
will  sit  there  open-mouthed,  their  eyes  fixed  on  mine,  expect- 

266 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  267 

ing  a  set  speech  in  sounding  periods — my  shirt  would  be  soak- 
ing before  I  could  find  a  word." 

"And  yet,  my  dear  father,  you  must  make  that  effort  in 
my  behalf,"  said  Simon  Giguet,  entering,  "for  if  there  is  a  man 
in  the  department  whose  word  is  powerful,  it  is  certainly  you. 
My  whole  life  is  at  stake,  my  prospects,  my  happiness." 

Colonel  Giguet  was  one  of  the  most  respected  officers  in 
the  Grande  Armee,  and  fanatically  devoted  to  Napoleon.  The 
Comte  de  Gondreville  prevented  his  banishment  in  181 5  and 
got  for  him  a  pension  and  the  rank  of  colonel.  He  lived  with 
Madame  Marion,  who,  in  181 4,  settled  in  Arcis,  her  native 
town,  and  bought  a  handsome  residence  in  the  Grande  Place. 
Her  drawing-room  for  the  last  four-and-twenty  years  had  been 
open  to  the  prominent  members  of  the  Liberal  circle  at  Arcis. 
Colonel  Giguet,  a  Liberal,  after  being  a  Bonapartist,  became, 
under  the  Restoration,  president  of  the  town  council  of  Arcis, 
which  included  Grevin  the  notary,  Grevin's  brother-in-law, 
Varlet  fils,  the  chief  physician  in  the  town,  and  Grevin's  son- 
in-law.  Beau  visage.  For  the  past  nine  years,  since  his  political 
party  had  come  to  the  top,  the  Colonel  had  lived  almost  out  of 
the  world,  devoting  himself  to  the  culture  of  roses,  and  he  had 
the  stained  hands  of  a  true  gardener. 

"If  our  dear  boy  is  not  elected,"  said  Madame  Marion, 
"he  will  not  win  Mademoiselle  Beauvisage;  for  what  he  looks 
for  in  the  event  of  his  success  is  marrying  Cecile." 

Cecile  Beauvisage  was  the  richest  heiress  in  the  Department 
of  the  Aube  and  had  already  refused  many  suitors. 

The  district  of  Arcis-sur-Aube  believed  itself  free  to  elect 
a  deputy.  From  181 6  till  1836  it  had  always  returned  one  of 
the  most  ponderous  orators  of  the  Left,  one  of  those  seventeen 
whom  the  Liberal  party  loved  to  designate  as  great  citizens — 
no  less  a  man,  in  short,  than  Francois  Keller,  of  the  firm  of 
Keller  Brothers,  son-in-law  to  the  Comte  de  Gondreville. 

Gondreville,  one  of  the  finest  estates  in  France,  was  not 
far  from  Arcis.  The  banker,  lately  created  count  and  peer 
of  France,  hoped  that  his  son  would  succeed  him  as  deputy. 
Charles  Keller,  already  a  major  with  a  staff  appointment,  and 
now  a  viscount,  as  one  of  the  Prince  Royal's  favorites,  was 
attached  to  the  party  of  the  Citizen  King.     A  splendid  future 


268  THE   MEMBER  FOR  ARCIS 

seemed  to  lie  before  this  young  man,  possessed  of  immense 
wealth,  courage,  and  devotion  to  the  new  dynasty,  who  was, 
moreover,  grandson  of  the  Comte  de  Gondreville  and  nephew 
of  the  Marechale  de  Carighano. 

As  soon  as  Gr^vin,  the  notary,  declared  that  he  would  sup- 
port Charles  Keller,  Arcis  conceived  a  strong  feeling  against 
him  and  supported  Simon  Giguet.  Phileas  Beauvisage,  the 
Mayor,  on  bad  terms  with  his  father-in-law,  was  naturally  of 
this  party.  Madame  Marion,  queen  of  Arcis  society,  had, 
with  her  friends,  organized  a  meeting  of  "Independent  Elec- 
tors" in  favor  of  her  nephew,  Simon  Giguet;  and  she  had 
turned  the  whole  house  topsy-turvy  for  the  reception  of  the 
friends  on  whose  independence  she  relied. 

Simon  Giguet,  the  home-made  candidate  of  a  little  town 
that  was  jealously  eager  to  return  one  of  its  sons,  had,  as  has 
been  seen,  at  once  taken  advantage  of  this  stir  to  represent  the 
wants  and  interests  of  Southwestern  Champagne.  At  the 
same  time,  the  position  and  fortune  of  the  Giguet  family  were 
due  to  the  Comte  de  Gondreville.  Simon,  although  a  lawyer, 
was  the  butt  of  many  pleasantries.  He  was  so  ready  to  talk 
that  he  had  laid  himself  open  to  ridicule.  Now,  when  the 
door-bell  announced  the  advent  of  the  electors,  he  began  to 
feel  nervous. 

The  first  to  come  were  Phileas  Beauvisage  and  the  notary, 
Achille  Pigoult,  who  was  sent  by  Madame  Beauvisage  to  keep 
an  eye  on  Beauvisage.  He  was  really  a  spy  from  the  Gondre- 
ville faction;  and  Simon  immediately  scented  an  enemy  when 
he  saw  him.  By  twelve  o'clock  fifty  men  were  seated  in  the 
chairs  that  had  been  arranged  by  Madame  Marion,  who  took 
a  seat  in  the  garden  where  she  could  overhear  everything. 

At  three  o'clock,  Simon  Giguet  was  still  explaining  the 
meaning  of  progress.  Achille  Pigoult  had  persuaded  the 
electors  to  listen  and  many  of  them  were  asleep.  Meanwhile 
the  other  party  was  informed  of  the  sudden  death  of  Charles 
Keller.  An  opposition  candidate  to  Simon  Giguet  had  now 
to  be  found. 

Old  Grevin  had  great  ambitions  for  the  third  generation. 
He  hoped  by  means  of  his  gold  to  start  Cecile  on  the  high  road 
to  greatness.     He  told  Madame  Beauvisage  one  day  when  she 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  269 

called  and  found  him  taking  his  coffee  under  the  blossoming 
lilacs  that  he  had  bought  the  Hotel  Beauseant  in  Paris  for  a 
wedding-gift  for  Cecile  and  he  had  planned  a  brilliant  future 
for  his  daughter  and  granddaughter.  Madame  Beauvisage 
must,  however,  refuse  Simon  Giguet's  attentions.  He  also 
said:  "You  and  Cecile  would  be  miserable  with  an  old  family 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain;  they  would  make  you  feel 
your  humble  birth  in  a  thousand  little  ways.  What  we  must 
look  out  for  is  one  of  Napoleon's  dukes  who  is  in  want  of  money; 
then  we  can  get  a  fine  title  for  Cecile,  and  we  will  tie  up  her 
fortune." 

Madame  Marion  held  her  usual  salon  that  evening;  and 
Madame  Beauvisage  told  her  daughter  that,  as  she  was  des- 
tined to  shine  in  Paris,  she  must  be  very  reserved  with  the 
young  men  of  Arcis,  especially  Simon  Giguet. 

"  Be  quite  easy,"  was  her  reply;  " I  will  begin  at  once  to  adore 
the  Unknown." 

The  Unknown  was  the  subject  of  conversation  in  every 
family  of  Arcis.  Three  days  before  Simon's  meeting,  a  Stranger 
in  a  neat  tilbury,  drawn  by  a  fine  horse  and  followed  by  a  small 
lackey,  arrived  in  Arcis  and  took  rooms  at  the  Mulct.  The 
coach  brought  three  unlabeled  trunks  from  Paris.  He  gave 
no  name  and  his  mysterious  behavior  set  all  the  tongues  of 
Arcis  wagging.  The  Stranger  was  the  chief  subject  of  con- 
versation at  Madame  Marion's.  Madame  MoUot,  wife  of  the 
clerk  of  assize,  had  even  peered  from  her  house  through  her 
opera-glasses,  and  was  certain  that  he  wore  a  wig!  Antonin 
Goulard  left  Madame  Marion's  to  make  inquiries,  and,  re- 
turning, informed  the  gossips  that  the  Stranger  was  a  count 
who  had  just  returned  from  Gondreville.  Cecile's  interest  in 
the  Stranger  aroused  Simon's  jealousy.  During  the  evening 
Madame  Beauvisage  informed  Madame  Marion  of  Cecile's 
prospects  and  said:  "If  you  have  any  proposals  to  make,  go 
and  see  my  father." 

The  next  day,  Simon,  certain  of  his  election,  remarked  to 
the  sous-prefet:  "But  I  have  no  opponent."  "So  you  think," 
said  Antonin  Goulard.  "But  one  will  turn  up;  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that." 

Goulard  made  use  of  his  official  position  to  intrude  upon 


2  70  THE   MEMBER   FOR   ARCIS 

the  Stranger,  who  received  him  with  sangfroid  and  handed 
him  the  following  letter  from  the  pref et  of  the  department : 

"  Monsieur  le  Sous-prefet  : — Be  good  enough  to  take  steps  with  the 
bearer  as  to  the  election  in  Arcis,  and  conform  to  his  requirements  in  every 
particular.  I  request  you  to  be  absolutely  secret,  and  to  treat  him  with  the 
respect  due  to  his  rank." 

The  Stranger  asked  himself  to  dine  with  Goulard  and  re- 
quested that  Goulard  should  invite  the  Beauvisages.  He  also 
handed  Goulard  two  other  letters,  saying:  "Make  out  a  list 
of  all  the  votes  at  the  disposal  of  the  Government.  Above  all, 
we  must  not  appear  to  have  any  understanding.  I  am  merely 
a  speculator,  and  do  not  care  a  fig  about  the  election." 

Comte  Maxime  de  Trailles,  prince  of  rakes  and  dandies, 
having  run  through  his  fortune  at  the  age  of  forty-eight,  de- 
termined to  marry;  and,  as  he  could  not  find  a  wife  in  the  high- 
est Parisian  circles,  nor,  indeed,  in  the  middle  class,  asked  his 
friend,  Rastignac,  a  peer  of  France  and  possessed  of  great 
political  influence,  to  help  him  conclude  a  rich  marriage  and 
launch  him  into  a  diplomatic  career. 

Rastignac  told  him  of  the  helplessness  of  the  present  min- 
istry, and  added:  "If  you  could  distinguish  yourself  in  the 
thick  of  the  electoral  fray  that  is  beginning;  if  you  become  a 
voter — a  member — faithful  to  the  reigning  dynasty,  your  wishes 
shall  be  attended  to.  .  .  .  As  to  your  marriage,  my  dear  fellow, 
that  can  only  be  arranged  in  the  country.  In  Paris  you  are 
too  well  known.  The  thing  to  do  is  to  find  a  millionaire,  a 
parvenu,  with  a  daughter  and  the  ambition  to  swagger  at  the 
Tuileries." 

A  few  weeks  later  Rastignac  told  him  that  Charles  Keller 
had  been  killed  in  Africa  and  that  as  he  was  "our  candidate 
for  the  borough  and  district  of  Arcis,"  his  death  had  left  a  gap. 
Armed  with  letters  to  Gondreville  and  the  local  officials  and 
with  a  loan  from  Rastignac's  father-in-law,  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen,  Maxime  de  Trailles  was,  within  an  hour,  on  the 
road  to  Arcis. 

Supplied  with  information  by  the  landlady  of  the  Mulet 
and  Antonin  Goulard,  Maxime  de  Trailles  lost  no  time  in 
arranging  the  plan  of  his  electoral  campaign.     This  shrewd 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  271 

agent  for  his  own  private  politics  at  once  set  up  Phileas  Beau- 
visage  as  the  candidate  in  opposition  to  Simon  Giguet;  and, 
notwithstanding  that  the  man  was  a  cipher,  he  had  strong 
chances.  Maxime,  of  course,  intended  to  gain  old  Grevin's 
consent  to  his  marriage  with  the  handsome  Cecile. 

Beauvisage's  nomination  caught  fire,  and  just  as  Maxime 
had  written  to  Rastignac  regarding  the  success  of  his  schemes, 
another  candidate  appeared  on  the  scene. 

A  bundle  of  "edifying  letters"  threw  light  on  this  new  can- 
didate and  his  chances  for  election.  A  Monsieur  Dorlange,  a 
sculptor,  having  been  asked  to  make  a  monument  for  the  wife 
of  an  old  friend  of  his,  M.  jNIarie- Gaston,  refused  on  the  plea 
that  he  was  being  urged  to  come  forward  as  a  candidate  at  the 
coming  elections;  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade  proposed  that  his 
own  wife,  a  very  tactful  negotiator,  should  try  her  feminine  per- 
suasion with  the  artist.  The  Comte  also  said  that  Madame 
de  I'Estorade  was  suffering  from  a  nervous  attack  brought  on  by 
the  shock  of  having  had  their  little  daughter,  Nais,  nearly  run 
over  a  week  earlier.  The  child  was  saved  at  the  last  minute 
by  a  stranger  who  rushed  at  the  horses'  heads.  This  stranger 
continually  shadowed  Madame  de  I'Estorade. 

Dorlange,  for  a  slight  cast  upon  Marie-Gaston  by  the  Due 
de  Rhetore,  had  compelled  the  Duke  to  fight  a  duel,  in  which 
the  latter  was  wounded. 

When  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade,  his  wife,  and  Nais  went  to 
visit  the  sculptor's  studio,  Madame  de  I'Estorade  recognized 
the  stranger,  as  did  Nais,  who  cried:  "Oh,  you  are  the  gentle- 
man who  saved  me!"  Dorlange  presently  showed  his  guests 
a  statue  of  St.  Ursula,  commissioned  from  a  country  convent. 
Unknown  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade,  Dorlange  had  used  her 
for  a  model  in  making  this  statue.  She  reminded  him,  he  said, 
of  a  lady  he  had  known  in  Italy  named  Lanty.  Madame  de 
I'Estorade  noticed  a  handsome  Italian  woman  at  the  studio  who 
was  both  housekeeper  and  model  to  Dorlange. 

The  sculptor  became  a  frequent  guest  at  the  De  I'Estorade 
home.  But  the  eldest  son,  Armand,  did  not  like  him:  he  said 
he  looked  like  the  portraits  of  Danton  and  considered  that  a 
statuette  of  his  mother  presented  to  the  Comte  looked  like  a 
milliner's  apprentice.     Dorlange,  writing  to  his  friend  Marie- 


272  THE   MEMBER  FOR  ARCIS 

Gaston,  told  him  that  he  had  discovered  his  hitherto  unknown 
father.  A  waiter  at  the  Cafe  des  Arts  had  warned  Dorlange 
that  a  Httle  old  man,  untidy  and  marked  by  smallpox,  was 
watching  him.  This  was  Jacques  Bricheteau,  a  wonderful 
organist.  He  evaded  Dorlange.  But  one  day  the  sculptor 
received  a  letter  postmarked  Sweden.  It  was  from  his  anony- 
mous father,  who  told  him  he  must  enter  politics,  his  aptitude 
being  vouched  for  by  a  friend  who  had  shadowed  him.  The 
father  gave  him  an  order  on  his  bankers,  told  him  that  for  a 
time  he  must  continue  to  be  a  sculptor,  and  that  he  would  soon 
receive  an  order  for  a  statue  of  St.  Ursula  for  the  convent. 

Dorlange  bought  a  house,  took  shares  in  a  newspaper,  and 
executed  the  St,  Ursula — all  according  to  his  father's  instruc- 
tions; then  he  awaited  further  orders.  The  duel  he  had 
fought  with  Marie-Gaston's  brother-in-law  helped  his  chances 
of  election. 

According  to  his  father's  orders,  Dorlange  sent  his  statue 
to  a  convent  at  Arcis-sur-Aube,  and  himself  soon  followed 
it,  after  receiving  a  draft  on  the  bankers  in  the  name  of 
*^  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Sallenauve,  known  as  Dorlange,  Rue 
de  VOuest,  No.  42." 

At  Arcis  Dorlange,  to  his  surprise,  was  met  by  Jacques 
Bricheteau,  who  had  previously  avoided  him.  This  man  con- 
ducted Dorlange  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste,  where  he  was  intro- 
duced to  his  father,  the  Marquis  de  Sallenauve,  a  very  tall, 
very  thin,  and  very  bald  man.  He  was  calm  in  receiving  his 
son  and  also  while  Bricheteau  gave  a  rhetorical  account  of  his 
life  before  asking  Dorlange  if  he  would  consent  to  take  M.  de 
Sallenauve's  name  and  be  acknowledged  as  his  son.  On  Dor- 
lange's  consent,  the  father  produced  deeds,  pedigrees,  letters- 
patent,  and  many  documents  to  prove  the  antiquity  of  the 
Sallenauve  family.  After  dinner,  the  three  repaired  to  the 
notary's  office,  where  deeds  were  drawn,  and  Dorlange  emerged 
as  the  Comte  de  Sallenauve  and  possessor  of  the  Chateau 
d'Arcis,  which  his  father  purchased  for  a  hundred  and  eighty 
thousand  francs.  In  describing  all  this  to  Marie- Gaston,  Dor- 
lange confessed  his  lack  of  filial  respect  and  affection.  He 
continued:  "Supposing  this  man  were  not  my  father,  were  not 
even  the  Marquis  de  Sallenauve,  as  he  assumes  to  be;  suppos- 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  273 

ing  that,  like  that  luckless  Lucien  de  Rubempr^ — whose  story 
made  such  a  noise  at  the  time — I  were  wrapped  in  the  coils  of 
some  serpent  of  the  type  of  the  sham  priest  Carlos  Herrera, 
and  were  to  wake  presently  to  the  frightful  truth!" 

Strange  to  say,  the  new-found  father  left  Arcis  at  daybreak. 
Through  the  injfluence  of  Mother  Marie  des  Anges,  of  the 
Ursuline  convent,  who  was  Bricheteau's  aunt,  after  much  intri- 
cate wire-pulling,  the  newly  created  Count  of  Sallenauve  was 
put  up  as  a  third  candidate  for  Arcis. 

Marie-Gaston  joined  his  friend  at  Arcis  and  wrote  a  long 
account  of  Sallenauve's  success.  He  described  how  Beau- 
visage  had  crushed  and  beaten  Simon  Giguet,  "who  wanted 
to  take  his  seat  with  the  Left  Center,"  how  Maxime  de  Trailles 
was  trying  to  win  Cecile  Beauvisage,  and  how,  by  his  splendid 
entertainments  at  the  chateau,  his  fine  equipage,  and  open- 
handed  generosity,  the  new  candidate  was  fast  snufhng  out 
Maxime  de  Trailles's  elegance  and  Beauvisage's  chances. 
Everybody  noticed  his  likeness  to  Danton,  who  was  quite  a 
hero  in  his  native  province. 

At  the  preliminary  meeting,  Sallenauve  carried  the  day  by 
his  gifts  of  public  speaking;  but  Maxime  de  Trailles  dragged 
up  the  story  of  the  handsome  Italian  he  kept  hidden  in  his 
house  in  Paris.  Sallenauve  now  thought  it  best  to  relate  this 
woman's  history  in  a  letter  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade.  This 
is  the  story.  One  day,  in  Italy,  a  musician  and  spy  named 
Benedetto  brought  his  wife  to  Dorlange's  studio  to  pose.  She 
refused,  and  that  night  suffocated  her  husband  and  went  to 
Dorlange,  begging  him  to  take  her  to  Paris.  She  became  his 
housekeeper  and  model,  and  he  had  had  her  voice  trained. 
She  was  now  ready  to  appear  in  public.  How  to  launch  her 
was  a  puzzle.  Would  Madame  de  I'Estorade  lend  her  aid? 
Sallenauve  also  wrote  that  grief  for  his  dead  wife  seemed  to  be 
unsettling  Marie-Gaston's  mind. 

The  election  took  place.  The  number  of  votes  was  201. 
Beauvisage  received  2;  Giguet,  29;  and  Sallenauve,  170. 
Consequently,  Charles  de  Sallenauve  was  elected. 

The  day  after  the  election,  Maxime  de  Trailles  returned  to 
Paris  and  called  on  Colonel  Franchessini,  on  the  staff  of  the 
Citizen-Militia.     He    described    the    election,    ending    with: 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 18 


274  THE   MEMBER  FOR  ARCIS 

"How  can  you  account  for  the  fact  that  an  old  Iricoteuse,  for- 
merly a  friend  of  Danton's,  and  now  the  Mother  Superior  of 
an  Ursuline  convent,  with  the  help  of  a  nephew,  an  obscure 
Parisian  organist  whom  she  brought  out  as  the  masculine 
figurehead  of  her  scheme,  could  have  hoodwinked  a  whole  con- 
stituency to  such  a  point  that  this  stranger  actually  polled  an 
imposing  majority?" 

"Well,  but  someone  knew  him,  I  suppose." 

"Not  a  soul,  unless  it  were  this  old  hypocrite.  Till  the 
moment  of  his  arrival  he  had  no  fortune,  no  connections — not 
even  a  father!  While  he  was  taking  his  boots  off  he  was  made 
— Heaven  knows  how! — the  proprietor  of  a  fine  estate.  Then, 
in  quite  the  same  vein,  a  gentleman  supposed  to  be  a  native 
of  the  place,  from  which  he  had  absented  himself  for  many 
years,  presented  himself  with  this  ingenious  schemer  in  a 
notary's  ofhce,  acknowledged  him  post-haste  as  his  son,  and 
vanished  again  in  the  course  of  the  night,  no  one  knowing  by 
which  road  he  went.  This  trick  having  come  off  successfully, 
the  Ursuline  and  her  ally  launched  their  nominee ;  Republicans, 
Legitimists,  and  Conservatives,  the  clergy,  the  nobility,  the 
middle  classes — one  and  all,  as  if  bound  by  a  spell  cast  over 
the  whole  land,  came  around  to  this  favorite  of  the  old  nun- 
witch." 

The  two  concluded  it  would  be  worth  while  to  get  Mon- 
sieur de  Saint-Est^ve,  head  of  the  criminal  police,  to  ferret 
out  the  true  story  of  Dorlange  and  his  supposed  father.  The 
elections  had  made  Rastignac  Minister  of  Public  Works.  He 
was  friendly  with  Monsieur  de  I'Estorade,  a  zealous  Con- 
servative and  influential  in  the  Upper  Chamber.  Through 
De  I'Estorade's  friendship  with  Dorlange,  now  Sallenauve,  Ras- 
tignac was  enabled  to  meet  the  new  member  from  Arcis  and  to 
study  him  at  close  range.  In  the  meantime,  Franchessini  went 
to  Rastignac  about  Saint-Esteve,  who  wanted  advancement. 
Under  the  name  of  Vautrin  the  latter  had  years  before  com- 
pelled Franchessini  to  fight  a  duel  for  Rastignac's  advantage, 
a  duel  Rastignac  had  tried  to  prevent.  Rastignac  wanted  to 
have  no  dealings  with  Vautrin;  but,  yielding  to  Franchessini's 
persuasions,  he  advised  him  to  get  Vautrin  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  to  come  out  in  the  world,  to  take  up  with  some  actress, 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  275 

display  luxury  on  this  idol's  account,  and,  by  degrees,  make 
connections  through  the  people  who  gather  round  a  famous 
actress  as  moths  round  a  candle.  This  would  get  him  classed 
among  the  third  or  fourth  rate  notabilities — and  make  of  him 
a  man  possible  to  deal  with.  "Then,"  added  Rastignac,  "if 
he  came  to  me  and  I  were  in  power,  I  might  listen  to  him." 

Sallenauve  was  much  discussed  at  the  De  I'Estoradcs',  who 
were  entertaining  guests — Monsieur  and  Madame  Octave  de 
Camps.  They  learned  that  the  Italian  woman,  Luigia,  had 
fled  from  Dorlange's  studio,  and  no  one  knew  what  had  become 
of  her.  An  under-servant  said  she  had  had  a  mysterious  visitor, 
a  middle-aged  lady,  handsomely  dressed,  who  came  in  a  car- 
riage, and  who  managed  their  interviews  with  secrecy. 

Madame  de  Camps  had  many  conversations  with  Madame 
de  I'Estorade  about  Sallenauve  and  her  course  of  action  re- 
garding him.  About  this  time,  M.  de  I'Estorade  was  made 
very  jealous  by  finding  a  letter  from  Marie-Gaston  to  his  wife, 
in  which  the  half-mad  widower  wrote  that  he  had  had  a  mes- 
sage from  Madame  de  I'Estorade  saying  that  on  the  death  of 
her  husband  she  was  to  marry  Sallenauve. 

To  everyone's  surprise,  Sallenauve  left  Paris  suddenly.  A 
letter  from  him  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade  informed  her  that  he 
had  followed  Marie-Gaston  to  England,  as  his  friend  had  been 
taken  there  to  an  insane  asylum.  Not  long  after  this.  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  I'Estorade  thought  it  best  to  dismiss  Sallenauve 
politely  from  their  acquaintance. 

A  peasant  woman  now  came  forward  to  declare  that  she 
was  a  Sallenauve  and  that  there  was  no  Marquis  de  Sallenauve 
in  existence.  This  information  was  furnished  by  Madame 
Beauvisage  to  Maxime  de  Trailles,  who  passed  it  on  to  Ras- 
tignac for  the  good  of  the  party,  Maxime  took  the  papers  to 
a  lawyer,  Desroches,  who,  during  the  interview,  mentioned 
that  he  was  dining  out  and  was  afterward  to  draw  up  a  con- 
tract between  a  London  impresario  and  a  star,  just  discovered 
by  Madame  de  Saint- Esteve,  who  had  a  matrimonial  agency. 

Madame  de  Saint- Esteve  was  none  other  than  Vautrin's 
aunt,  Jacqueline  Collin.  She  had  found  the  Italian  woman 
with  the  beautiful  voice.  Vautrin  called  to  see  his  relative  and 
in  the  course  of  a  long  conversation  the  latter  formed  a  plan: 


276  THE   MEMBER  FOR  ARCIS 

Vautrin,  as  Count  Halphertius,  a  Swedish  lord,  crazy  about 
music  and  philanthropy,  should  take  great  interest  in  the  new 
singer.  He  would  be  her  recognized  patron,  and  Jacques  and 
Jacquelin  Collin  must  make  her  reign  brilliant  and  herself 
wealthy  for  the  sake  of  their  own  advancement. 

When  Vautrin  called  to  meet  the  singer,  his  aunt  and  accom- 
plice did  not  know  him,  so  perfect  was  his  disguise.  He  intro- 
duced the  diva  to  Sir  Francis  Drake,  who  engaged  her  for  the 
London  opera.  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve  gave  a  dinner  to 
which  various  journalists  and  other  well-known  men  were  in- 
vited.    This  was  the  dinner  to  which  Desroches  was  going. 

Luigia  was  singing  in  London  when  Sallenauve,  about  to 
leave  Marie-Gaston,  was  joined  by  Jacques  Bricheteau,  who 
had  come  from  Paris  to  tell  him  of  the  plot  against  him.  They 
decided  to  return  at  once  to  Paris.  In  London,  Sallenauve 
saw  the  announcement  of  Signora  Luigia  at  Her  Majesty's 
Theater.  He  was  struck  by  the  name,  and  went  to  the  opera, 
where  Luigia  was  a  great  success  in  Paesiello's  Nina,  0  la 
Pazza  per  Amore.  While  Luigia  was  receiving  compliments  in 
the  green-room,  Sallenauve's  card  was  handed  to  her.  She  left 
her  admirers  and  hastily  returned  to  her  apartments,  where  he 
was  awaiting  her.  Sallenauve  wished  to  renew  their  relations ; 
but  Luigia  would  not  consent,  although  she  told  him  she  loved 
him.  There  was  no  common  future,  she  said,  for  them,  for 
Dorlange  had  forsaken  art  for  a  political  career.  They  parted  for- 
ever. Sallenauve's  regrets  for  the  life  of  Dorlange,  the  sculptor, 
were  silenced  by  Bricheteau,  who  pictured  his  brilliant  future. 

The  Chambers  were  opened;  Sallenauve  had  not  been 
present  at  the  royal  sitting,  and  his  absence  had  caused  some 
sensation  in  the  Democratic  party.  Maxime  was  ready  with 
a  petition  from  the  peasant  woman.  The  legality  of  the  elec- 
tion was  questioned;  but  Rastignac's  damaging  speech  was 
interrupted  by  the  culprit's  entrance. 

"  Dan  ton  minus  the  smallpox,"  a  voice  cried,  as  Sallenauve 
went  up  to  the  tribune;  and  everyone  noticed  the  likeness  to 
that  fiery  orator. 

The  member  for  Arcis  gave  a  fine  defense.  The  president 
then  put  the  question  of  the  validity  of  Sallenauve's  election  to 
vote.     He  was  admitted  and  took  the  oaths. 


THE    MIDDLE    CLASSES    (1854) 

This  novel  was  left  unfinished  by  Balzac,  and  it  is  supposed  to  have  been 
completed  by  Charles  Rabou,  whom  Balzac  chose  to  continue  it.  Balzac  had 
been  at  work  upon  it  a  long  time,  frequently  laying  it  aside  for  other  things. 
It  appears  from  his  correspondence  that  it  was  very  nearly  finished  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  and  all  the  principal  scenes  were  sketched  out,  if  not  entirely  finished, 
even  to  the  last  chapter. 

J|i|HE  Thuillier  family  occupied  one  of  those  great 
houses  in  Paris  which,  formerly  the  abode  of 
the  nobility,  retain  traces  of  former  grandeur. 
Mademoiselle  Thuillier  owned  this  house,  hav- 
ing by  saving  and  clever  investing  gradually  be- 
come rich.  This  remarkable  woman  ruled  her 
brother,  a  retired  government  clerk,  handsome 
but  empty-headed,  and  the  insignificant  wife  his 
sister  had  chosen  for  him.  She  rented  the  floors 
of  the  house  not  used  by  the  family,  and  held  a  salon  every 
Sunday  evening  with  her  tenants  and  a  few  friends. 

Among  the  frequenters  of  her  salon  were  Monsieur  Dutocq, 
a  government  clerk.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Colleville,  the 
latter  handsome  and  ambitious,  and  their  daughter,  the  pretty 
Celeste;  Monsieur  and  Madame  Phellion  and  their  son,  Felix, 
Monsieur  a  highly  respected  man  in  the  arrondissement  and 
Felix  a  student  and  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  Royal 
College.  Monsieur  Minard,  who  had  made  a  fortune  in  adul- 
terating groceries  but  who  was  now  a  pattern  of  benevolence, 
with  his  wife  and  son,  together  with  the  lodger  on  the  top  floor, 
Monsieur  de  la  Peyrade,  were  the  remaining  principal  persons 
of  the  group. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Thuillier  had  no  children;  but  as 
Celeste  Colleville  was  their  godchild,  they  looked  upon  her  as 
their  own,  and  she  had  the  promise  of  inheriting  the  united 
fortunes  of  Madame  and  Mademoiselle.  The  three  young  men 
aspired  to  her  hand  with  differing  motives — Felix,  from  affec- 

277 


278  THE   MIDDLE   CLASSES 

tion,  Julien  Minard,  from  desire  for  her  money,  and  De  la  Pey- 
rade,  with  the  desperate  hope  that  it  might  save  him  from  the 
abyss  of  degradation  which,  unknown  to  the  simple  group, 
yawned  under  his  feet. 

Theodose  de  la  Peyrade  had  come  to  Paris  a  few  years 
previously  and  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar.  He  had  not 
advanced  in  his  profession,  but  continued  as  an  advocate,  de- 
voting himself  ostentatiously  to  the  service  of  the  poor.  He 
was,  in  fact,  an  adventurer,  of  an  honest  family  in  the  province, 
but  a  Tartuffe  in  character,  who  made  trickery  and  hypocrisy 
his  means  of  advancement  in  life.  He  had  two  associates  in 
vice,  Cerizet  and  the  clerk  Dutocq.  The  latter,  also  masking 
under  false  pretenses,  while  highly  thought  of  by  the  Thuilliers, 
had  introduced  Peyrade  to  them.  Cerizet  was  a  man  of  power- 
ful intellect,  who  had  formerly  edited  a  ministerial  journal,  but 
who,  sinking  lower  and  lower,  now  kept  a  sort  of  quick-loan 
shop  for  the  lowest  of  the  poor  in  the  most  disreputable  quarter 
of  Paris.  These  two  had  befriended  Peyrade  in  a  time  of  ex- 
tremity and  had  loaned  him  fifty  thousand  francs.  They  held 
him  by  this  chain,  now  that  he  was  rising  in  the  world  and 
hoped  to  marry  the  young  heiress.  Celeste.  The  three  held 
together,  although  each  suspected  the  other  of  treachery. 
Cerizet's  appearance  was  so  terrible,  from  a  life  of  dissipation, 
that  he  never  came  with  the  others  to  the  Latin  Quarter.  Pey- 
rade began  his  flatteries  by  making  love  to  Madame  Colleville, 
by  praising  Brigitte's  cooking,  and  by  laughing  at  Thuillier's 
jokes. 

Cerizet  had  concocted  a  plan  to  make  Brigitte  Thuillier  buy 
a  house  near  the  Madeleine.  The  procedure  was  illegal  on 
account  of  some  difficulty  with  the  builders,  but  it  would  prove 
profitable.  Cerizet  himself  intended  to  rent  from  her  and  sub- 
let to  actual  tenants,  making  a  large  profit. 

De  la  Peyrade  agreed  to  this,  because  it  fell  in  with  his 
plans.  To  carry  them  out,  he  first  suggested  to  Thuillier,  an 
incompetent  fool,  that  he  should  obtain  a  seat  in  the  Municipal 
Council,  and  won  over  old  Phellion,  virtuous  but  pompous,  to 
voting  for  him  against  his  own  convictions.  He  promised  to 
get  Thuillier  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  to  write  a 
political  pamphlet  for  him. 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  279 

His  next  step  was  to  take  advantage  of  Brigitte's  joy  in  the 
election  of  her  idolized  brother  to  persuade  her  into  buying 
the  house,  as  necessary  to  his  new  dignity. 

He  then  approached  Thuillier  with  his  plan  of  marrying 
Celeste.  Thuillier  agreed  to  this,  and  the  two  influenced 
Brigitte,  the  supreme  power  in  the  family,  to  approve  and  to 
promise  her  own  and  Madame  Thuillier's  fortunes  as  her 
dowry.  In  addition,  he  informed  Thuillier  that  as  it  was  very 
necessary  to  win  over  the  girl's  mother  by  flattery  and  judicious 
management,  it  would  be  better  to  say  nothing  of  these  plans 
for  the  present. 

The  only  thing  in  the  way  of  this  match  was  the  inclination 
of  Celeste  herself.  She  loved  Felix.  She  was  an  ardent  Cath- 
olic and  talked  often  with  him  about  religion,  as  he  was  in- 
different to  the  faith.  The  two  were  tacitly  engaged,  but 
De  la  Peyrade,  having  managed  the  property  question,  turned 
himself  to  embroiling  the  lovers,  which  he  did  by  adroitly  foster- 
ing their  religious  differences. 

In  these  operations  De  la  Peyrade  had  acted  entirely  for  him- 
self. He  had  outv/itted  his  two  companions  and  was  preparing 
to  cast  them  off  as  soon  as  he  felt  himself  to  be  strong  enough. 
They  knew  this  well,  and  Cerizet  prepared  a  pitfall  for  him. 
He  summoned  him  to  a  visit  at  his  own  sordid  stronghold. 
Cerizet  was  talking  with  Mother  Cardinal,  a  fish-hawker  with 
a  voice  of  iron,  when  he  entered,  and  seemed  preoccupied  with 
a  new  idea,  but  almost  immediately  turned  his  attention  to 
De  la  Peyrade,  and  put  it  to  him  plainly  that  he  must  get  him 
the  lease  of  the  new  house,  or  he  would  foreclose  one  of  his 
acceptances.  This  was  a  blow  to  De  la  Peyrade,  for,  despite 
his  success,  he  could  not  command  the  money.  He  therefore 
promised  to  bring  the  lease  to  a  dinner  on  the  following  Tuesday. 

Good  luck  seemed  coming  Cerizet's  way.  Madame  Car- 
dinal had  told  him  of  the  approaching  death  of  an  old  uncle 
of  hers,  a  miser.  Cerizet  accepted  her  proposition  to  help  her 
carry  off  his  gold  before  his  death.  This  scheme  was  foiled  by 
the  appearance  of  a  little  old  man  at  the  very  moment  when 
Cerizet  had  his  hand  on  the  treasure,  and  even  in  his  success 
he  found  himself  in  danger  of  the  police. 

This  old  man  was  Monsieur  du  Portail,  who  occupied  the 


28o  THE  MIDDLE  CLASSES 

first  floor  with  his  niece,  a  girl  crazed  by  some  misfortune.  He 
spoke  with  an  air  of  authority,  and  instead  of  having  Cerizet 
arrested,  commanded  him  to  call  on  him  the  next  morning. 

At  this  call  it  devolved  that  the  niece  was  a  cousin  of 
De  la  Peyrade's;  that  her  malady  was  one  that  physicians  said 
would  be  cured  by  marriage;  and  that  M.  du  Portail  intended 
that  Peyrade  should  marry  her.  Cerizet  told  the  old  man 
something  of  Peyrade's  plans;  that  Dutocq's  introduction  of 
him  to  the  Thuilliers  was  intended  ultimately  to  repay  himself 
and  Cerizet  from  Celeste's  dowry,  and  was  told  in  return  that 
the  miser,  Torpillon,  had  left  his  fortune  to  the  crazed  girl, 
Mademoiselle  Lydie  de  la  Peyrade.  Du  Portail  further  ex- 
plained that  this  was  a  restitution,  as  years  before  the  jewels 
had  been  stolen  from  Lydie's  mother,  a  celebrated  actress,  and 
confided  by  the  actual  thief  to  Torpillon,  who  had  afterward 
refused  to  renounce  them.  Du  Portail  had  discovered  this 
and  had  compelled  Torpillon  to  make  a  will  in  the  girl's  favor, 
not  only  of  the  jewels,  but  of  all  his  property.  Thus  Cerizet 
could  see  that  Peyrade  would  be  rich  if  he  married  his  cousin. 
Du  Portail  therefore  proposed  to  him,  as  the  price  of  his  own 
silence  in  regard  to  the  attempted  robbery,  to  buy  Peyrade's 
acceptances  from  Dutocq,  thus  getting  the  former  into  his  own 
power.  Cerizet  agreed  to  this,  with  an  idea  of  making  an  ad- 
ditional commission  himself  out  of  the  transaction. 

De  la  Peyrade  came  to  this  dinner  in  a  gay  mood.  He  coolly 
told  Cerizet  that  he  could  not  have  the  lease  of  the  house,  as 
Mademoiselle  intended  to  look  after  her  own  renting,  and  as 
for  Dutocq's  acceptances,  he  should  have  the  money  for  them. 
He  then  left,  humming  a  tune,  and  paid  their  bill  at  the  desk, 
as  a  bit  of  effrontery,  after  carelessly  dismissing  Cerizet's  propo- 
sition that  he  should  marry  his  cousin  instead  of  Celeste. 

Cerizet,  downcast  at  his  double  failure,  confessed  it  to  M. 
du  Portail,  who  merely  remarked  that  he  should  have  to  look 
after  the  business  himself. 

De  la  Peyrade  was  in  the  habit  of  attending  early  mass  in  his 
parish  church.  He  had  noticed  a  woman  of  saintly  appearance 
and  plain  dress  watching  him  constantly.  On  the  morning  of 
the  dinner  he  had  spoken  to  her  and  found  that  she  desired  to 
confide  to  him,  as  his  reputation  as  a  friend  of  the  poor  was 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  281 

great,  the  sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  a  legacy.  He, 
promising  to  invest  them  for  her,  and  giving  her  no  receipt, 
found  himself,  just  in  time,  able  to  rid  himself  of  his  shackles 
by  paying  Dutocq,  which  he  did  to  the  last  cent.  She  was  a 
woman  who  served  Monsieur  Picot,  the  astronomer,  nearly 
blind  and  absent-minded,  and  this  money  was  the  result  of  her 
thieving. 

It  was  not  so  good  for  Peyrade  as  it  seemed,  to  keep  the 
whole  business  of  renting  Mademoiselle  Thuillier's  house  in 
her  own  hands.  The  old  bourgeoise,  feeling  a  timidity  in  doing 
business  in  a  fashionable  quarter,  put  herself  entirely  into  the 
hands  of  a  tenant  who  suddenly  appeared,  a  Hungarian 
countess,  Madame  GodoUo.  The  Thuilliers  decided  to  oc- 
cupy their  new  house,  and  help  was  needed  to  furnish  their 
apartment  suitably.  This  help  Madame  Godollo,  a  woman 
of  most  lofty  pretensions  to  fashion,  was  ready  to  give.  Won- 
derful bargains  in  furniture,  draperies,  and  carpets  were  secured 
through  her  agency,  and  she  soon  occupied  the  position  of 
social  mentor  to  these  good  people,  unused  to  the  customs  of 
polite  society.  De  la  Peyrade  felt  that  his  own  influence  was 
waning,  and,  worse  than  this,  the  Countess  Godollo  made  no 
pretense  of  her  opposition  to  the  match  with  Celeste. 

Another  thing  troubled  him.  There  was  a  mysterious 
obstacle  to  his  obtaining  the  cross  for  Thuillier,  which  he  had 
been  sincere  in  promising.  He  felt  that  he  had  reached  a 
point  where  he  must  strike  a  decisive  blow. 

Accordingly  one  morning,  while  they  were  working  over 
the  famous  pamphlet,  he  stopped  and  refused  to  go  on.  Thuil- 
lier, alarmed,  asked  him  the  reason.  He  replied  frankly  that 
Madame  Godollo's  influence  was  against  his  marriage,  and 
said  that  if  the  friendship  was  to  continue  the  matter  must  be 
settled  within  two  weeks.  Brigitte,  on  being  consulted,  agreed, 
saying  nevertheless  that  these  machinations  were  not  to  her 
taste;  and  Celeste  was  told  that  she  must  decide  between 
Peyrade  and  Felix  within  that  time. 

At  first  the  liberty  to  follow  her  own  inclinations  pleased  the 
young  girl,  but  De  la  Peyrade  had  not  miscalculated  the  force  of 
her  religious  convictions.  The  two  quarreled,  and  the  quarrel 
would  have  been  irreconcilable  had  it  not  been  for  the  inter- 


282  THE   MIDDLE   CLASSES 

ference  of  Madame  Godollo,  which  brought  the  affair  to  a 
standstill.  By  this,  De  la  Peyrade  became  fully  certain  of 
the  hostility  of  the  Countess,  and  determined  to  try  his  pow- 
ers upon  her.  On  the  day  Celeste's  decision  was  to  be  an- 
nounced, he  called  upon  her  in  her  magnificent  rooms  in  the 
entresol. 

He  was  kept  waiting  some  time  in  the  reception-room,  and, 
chancing  to  look  out  of  the  window,  he  beheld  a  little  old  man 
decorated  with  many  orders  stepping  into  an  emblazoned  car- 
riage. The  Countess  entered,  with  apologies  for  tardiness  on 
account  of  another  visitor  of  importance.  Her  attitude  to  him- 
self was  one  of  mystery  and  possible  coquetry.  When  he  left 
her  he  thought  that  a  secret  love  for  himself  might  be  the  cause 
of  her  behavior.  This  from  a  woman  skilled  in  the  arts  of 
attraction,  surrounded  as  she  was  with  the  evidences  of  wealth, 
influenced  him,  although  in  his  dealings  with  women  he  was 
usually  guided  merely  by  motives  of  policy.  Her  management 
of  him  had  been  so  adroit  that  later,  when  Thuillier  told  him 
that  Celeste  accepted  him,  but  entirely  as  a  sacrifice  to  their 
wishes,  he  allowed  his  cold  judgment  to  be  warped,  and  instead 
of  clinching  the  matter  himself  he  suggested  waiting  a  little 
longer. 

The  great  pamphlet  was  at  length  finished,  and  Thuillier 
haunted  the  book-stalls  to  witness  the  extent  of  its  sale.  To 
his  humiliation,  only  four  copies  were  sold.  The  bookseller 
then  suggested  a  breakfast  to  the  press,  which  the  misguided 
man  gave,  and  which  contributed  still  more  to  his  humiliation, 
as  almost  nobody  came  and  those  who  did  come  were  of  the 
lowest  order. 

In  the  midst  of  this  sad  feast,  the  news  was  brought  that 
the  whole  edition  had  been  seized,  as  containing  illegal  printed 
matter.  Thuillier  and  his  companion  immediately  withdrew, 
the  former  in  the  greatest  agitation. 

In  the  despair  following  this  bit  of  ill  luck,  Peyrade  again 
sought  the  Countess.  At  this  second  visit  she  led  him  con- 
clusively to  believe  in  her  love  for  him.  She  declared  also  that 
she  had  great  influence  in  high  quarters,  and  told  him  that  it 
was  at  her  behest  the  pamphlets  had  been  seized.  Peyrade 
was  all  the  more  ready  to  believe  in  this  influence  from  another 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC  283 

glimpse  of  the  little  old  man,  decorated  with  orders,  going  from 
her  door,  and  from  seeing  letters  addressed  to  the  Commandant 
waiting  to  be  posted  in  the  foyer. 

The  Countess  intimated  that  what  she  had  done  was  for 
the  purpose  of  deterring  him  from  the  match  with  the  little 
hourgeoise  and  mating  him  with  a  nobler,  more  congenial  soul 
in  herself.  Losing  his  head  entirely,  Peyrade  declared  to  her 
that  the  struggle  was  over  and  that  she  had  won.  He  then 
rushed  from  the  house  in  a  mood  of  great  exaltation. 

The  next  morning  he  disclosed  to  Thuillier  that  the  seizure 
of  the  pamphlets  was  an  irremediable  misfortune,  and  took 
the  high  hand  with  him  in  a  quarrel,  in  which  Brigitte  soon 
participated.  He  renounced  his  claim  to  Celeste,  and  gave 
Brigitte  no  great  satisfaction  when  she  coarsely  reminded  him 
of  the  ten  thousand  francs  given  for  the  promised  cross,  which 
had  not  been  forthcoming. 

De  la  Peyrade  had  fallen  completely  into  the  Countess  Go- 
dollo's  trap.  Having  done  her  work,  she  now  disappeared, 
leaving  a  letter  giving  the  information  that  by  embroiling  him 
with  the  Thuilliers  and  Collevilles  she  had  blessed  him  in  dis- 
guise, for  a  richer  bride  than  Celeste  awaited  him.  She  re- 
ferred him  to  M.  du  Portail,  Rue  Honore- Chevalier,  who  was 
expecting  him. 

The  shock  of  this  disappointment  was  too  much  for  the 
Provencal.  His  health  gave  way,  and  an  attack  of  fever  con- 
fined him  to  his  room  for  some  time.  The  Thuilliers,  on  their 
part,  reveled  in  the  freedom  resulting  from  his  absence.  The 
brother  strutted  like  a  turkey-cock,  and  Brigitte  indulged  in 
all  her  petty  economies  and  bourgeois  tricks. 

Still  another  turn  in  the  wheel  brought  to  Thuillier  the 
opportunity  of  buying  a  journal,  L'Echo  de  la  Bievre.  De  la  Pey- 
rade had  formed  some  feeble  resolutions  of  leading  a  respectable 
life  after  his  illness,  but  could  not  resist  this  chance  of  regaining 
his  ascendancy.  Meeting  Thuillier  opportunely,  he  proposed 
to  him  to  buy  the  journal  and  to  install  himself  as  editor-in- 
chief,  at  an  excellent  salar}^,  with  Cerizet  as  manager.  The 
pretense  was  that  it  would  insure  Thuillier's  election  to  the 
Chamber.  The  latter,  inflated  with  success,  and  in  spite  of 
his  former  experiences  with  the  adroit  Peyrade,  yielded  to  his 


284  THE   MIDDLE   CLASSES 

clever  arguments,  and  fell  more  completely  under  his  power 
than  before. 

Du  Portail  now  had  occasion  to  interview  Cerizet  again. 
He  discovered  him  to  be  deeply  in  debt.  His  debts  must  be 
paid  before  he  could  take  the  place  offered. 

"I  see  I've  got  to  stand  the  money  myself,"  said  Du  Portail, 
"but  the  question  is,  whether  your  presence  in  the  affair  is 
worth  it." 

"Dame!^'  said  Cerizet;  "if  I  were  only  installed  there, 
I  would  soon  have  De  la  Peyrade  and  Thuillier  at  logger- 
heads." 

Accordingly,  he  was  installed,  for  to  checkmate  Peyrade 
was  what  Du  Portail  wanted  most. 

The  two  concocted  a  story  to  be  told  Thuillier:  that  the 
twenty-five  thousand  francs,  of  which  they  had  learned  the 
history,  had  been  obtained  from  the  police,  as  a  reward  for 
De  la  Peyrade's  inserting  some  traitorous  paragraphs  in  the 
pamphlet,  leading  to  its  seizure. 

Cerizet  laid  his  plans  with  great  skill  to  carry  this  out,  and 
brought  things  to  such  a  point  that  Thuillier  demanded  of 
Peyrade  information  as  to  where  he  got  the  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  which  came  in  so  opportunely  for  buying  his  acceptances 
from  Dutocq. 

The  Provencal  saw  that  without  confession  he  would  have 
the  newly  recovered  future  cut  from  beneath  his  feet.  So  he 
told  them  frankly  that  they  were  the  savings  of  a  domestic  that 
had  been  confided  to  him,  and  offered  to  summon  this  person 
by  a  note. 

Madame  Lambert,  the  saintly  thief,  appeared.  She  at  first 
denied  the  transaction,  but  on  Peyrade's  calling  the  others  to 
witness  that  Madame,  according  to  her  own  statement,  never 
had  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  and  consequently  could  not 
have  given  that  sum  to  him;  and  that,  as  the  notary,  Depuis, 
with  whom  he  fancied  he  had  placed  them,  had  left  Paris  that 
morning,  carrying  with  him  all  his  clients'  money,  he  had  a 
clear  account  with  Madame,  and 

"The  notary  Depuis  has  absconded!"  cried  Madame  Lam- 
bert; "the  wretch!  the  villain!  when  only  this  morning  he 
took  the  communion!" 


HONORE    DE   BALZAC  285 

"That  was  doubtless  to  pray  for  a  safe  journey,"  replied 
Peyrade. 

"Monsieur  can  talk  lightly  enough  about  it,"  continued 
Madame  Lambert,  "but  that  brigand  has  carried  off  all  my 
savings." 

De  la  Peyrade  had  triumphed  once  more.  The  marriage  was 
again  arranged  and  the  day  arrived  when  the  ceremony  was  to 
be  performed.  The  Provencal  felt  that  his  struggle  to  achieve 
respectability  and  fortune  was  over,  as  the  wedding-party  were 
gathered  in  the  drawing-room  preparatory  to  going  to  the 
notary's,  when  Henri  came  in  to  say  that  an  aged  gentleman, 
wearing  decorations,  had  asked  to  be  received  on  very  urgent 
business. 

The  interview  was  enormously  prolonged.  Brigitte  and  even 
De  la  Peyrade  himself  were  not  above  putting  their  eyes  to  the 
keyhole,  to  discover  what  was  keeping  Thuillier.  At  last  the 
old  gentleman  was  seen  to  get  into  an  elegant  carriage  and 
drive  rapidly  away.  Thuillier  rejoined  the  others,  and  with  a 
grave  face  thus  addressed  De  la  Peyrade: 

"  My  dear  De  la  Peyrade,  you  did  not  inform  me  that  another 
proposal  of  marriage  ha,d  been  considered  seriously  by  you. 
Were  I  in  your  place,  I  should  go  at  once  to  see  Monsieur  du 
Portail." 

"Again  that  name!  It  pursues  me  like  remorse!"  cried 
De  la  Peyrade. 

"Yes,  go  to  him  at  once;  he  awaits  you.  That  is  an  in- 
dispensable preliminary  before  we  proceed  further.  When 
you  shall  have  seen  this  honest  gentleman — well,  if  you  persist 
in  demanding  Celeste's  hand,  we  may  carry  out  our  plans; 
until  then  we  shall  take  no  further  steps." 

De  la  Peyrade  had  at  last  met  his  match.  Du  Portail  con- 
fessed himself  to  be  the  great  detective  Corentin,  and  he  dis- 
closed to  the  Provencal  his  power.  He  it  was  who  had  pur- 
sued him  from  the  beginning,  who  had  sent  the  Godollo,  an 
adventuress,  to  the  Thuilliers,  who  had  annulled  the  promise 
of  the  cross,  who  had  had  the  pamphlets  seized ;  and  he  added 
that  it  had  been  his  care  to  incite  all  the  journals  to  a  persecu- 
tion of  M.  Thuillier,  which  must  end  in  his  political  defeat. 

Corentin  offered  to  De  la  Peyrade,  as  the  sole  field  in  which 


286  THE   MIDDLE   CLASSES 

his  abilities  might  now  be  exercised,  a  connection  with  the 
department  of  the  pohce.  The  young  man,  seeing  in  every 
other  direction  he  might  turn  only  a  cul-de-sac,  felt  this  to  be 
a  not  uncongenial  solution  of  his  difficulties. 

When,  later,  Corentin  confronted  him  with  the  darkest 
crime  of  his  past,  the  ruin  of  his  own  cousin,  Lydie,  in  the 
person  of  the  girl  herself,  his  yielding  to  the  great  man's  domina- 
tion was  complete.  He  recalled  and  explained  to  him  that 
chapter  of  his  life,  telling  him  that  his  uncle,  victim  of  a  diabol- 
ical intrigue,  had  fallen  into  a  situation  where  his  own  daughter 
must  be  sacrificed,  and  that  he,  De  la  Peyrade,  had  been  chosen 
to  carry  out  this  deadly  plot.  This  was  the  secret  of  his  deter- 
mination that  De  la  Peyrade  should  marry  Lydie,  for  her  father, 
De  la  Peyrade's  uncle,  had  been  his  own  dearest  friend.  De  la 
Peyrade  yielded  to  his  fate  and  found  thenceforth  a  legitimate 
outlet  for  his  powers  of  intrigue  in  .the  service  of  the  police. 

His  last  attention  to  the  Thuillier  family  was  an  editorial 
in  L'Echo,  in  which  he  announced,  in  the  name  of  the  great 
statesman  himself,  that  he  had  forever,  and  in  the  best  interests 
of  his  constituency,  renounced  public  life.  To  the  great  rage 
of  that  noble  man,  Thuillier,  this  resignation  was  completely 
effectual,  and  never  again  could  he  aspire  to  political  distinction. 

The  Thuillier  family  soon  moved  back  into  the  Latin  Quar- 
ter, where  they  resumed  their  lives  of  sober,  respectable,  and 
worthy  bourgeoisie,  the  honorable  lives  of  the  salvation  of 
France — the  Middle  Classes. 


JOHN   BANIM 

(Ireland,   1798-1842) 
BOYNE    WATER    (1826) 

The  scenes  of  this  tragic  tale  are  laid  in  the  time  of  the  bitter  civil  war  in 
Ireland  between  the  partizans  of  King  James  II  and  his  son-in-law,  William 
of  Orange. 

[N  the  next  day  after  James  the  Second  was  pro- 
claimed King  of  Great  Britain,  a  young  Prot- 
estant gentleman  and  his  sister,  Robert  and 
Esther  Evelyn,  were  traveling  along  a  rough 
road  in  the  north  of  Ireland.  While  descending 
a  hill,  Esther's  horse  became  unmanageable, 
and  the  young  lady  would  have  perished  had  it 
not  been  for  a  young  Irishman  and  his  sister, 
Edmund  and  Eva  MacDonell,  who  came  to  their 
rescue  and  took  the  fatigued  and  frightened  party  of  travelers 
to  their  own  home  in  a  glen  near  by. 

On  their  way  there,  a  strange,  uncanny  woman,  Onagh  by 
name,  who  lived  in  a  cave  and  was  deemed  a  witch,  intercepted 
them  and  foretold  to  Eva  MacDonell  that  she  would  love 
Robert  Evelyn  and  might  safely  do  so,  though  the  blessing 
would  come  late;  but  said  that  in  Esther  Evelyn  she  saw  the 
face  which  Edmund  MacDonell  must  shun,  on  peril  of  dire 
sorrow. 

At  the  MacDonells'  home,  the  Evelyn  party  were  enter- 
tained with  generous  hospitality,  and  soon  after  this  Edmund 
and  Eva  MacDonell  went  to  visit  Evelyn  and  his  sister  at  their 
cottage  on  the  coast ;  and  as  the  four  young  folks  were  all  fresh 
of  heart,  enthusiastic  and  imaginative,  and  as  peace,  even  the 
rare  peace  of  sectarian  toleration,  was  in  the  land,  they  naturally 
fell  in  love.     Even  their  contrasts  of  character  drew  them  to- 

287 


288  BOYNE  WATER 

gether  and  helped  to  unite  the  fiery-spirited  Eva  with  the 
matter-of-fact  Robert  Evelyn;  and  to  make  the  weak  and  tender 
Esther  love  the  bold  and  manly  Edmund  MacDonell. 

Many  delightful  months  were  passed  by  the  four  lovers  in 
the  enjoyment  of  repeating  the  usual  sweet  vows,  protestations, 
and  caresses.  But  Evelyn  was  not  yet  twenty-one,  and,  more- 
over, was  obliged  from  business  reasons  to  make  a  lengthy 
voyage  across  the  Atlantic.  On  returning  home,  Evelyn  landed 
in  Dublin  and  was  met  by  MacDonell  with  the  warmest  greet- 
ings. But  so  heated  was  the  political  atmosphere  by  that  time 
that  a  toast  to  King  James  could  not  be  drunk  in  the  tavern 
where  they  dined  without  raising  a  brawl. 

On  the  first  night  that  the  united  friends  slept  under  the 
same  roof,  each  was  approached  by  clerical  plotters,  who  sought 
to  enlist  the  young  men  on  their  respective  sides  and  who  urged 
their  causes  so  hotly  that  each  was  prevailed  upon  to  make  a 
conditional  engagement  to  fight  with  the  party  to  which  by 
inheritance  he  belonged. 

The  young  men  journeyed  together  to  MacDonell's  home 
with  a  reserve  and  embarrassment  between  them  never  before 
known;  but  the  long-awaited  meeting  was  happy  with  the 
mutual  embraces  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  lovers. 

The  preparations  for  the  double  wedding  went  merrily  on. 
On  several  occasions,  however,  the  young  lovers  were  each 
seriously  disturbed  by  various  incidents,  rumors  of  Popish 
plots,  despatches  announcing  the  speedy  landing  of  William  of 
Orange  in  England,  the  secret  drilling  of  Catholic  peasants, 
conducted  by  Edmund,  and  tragic  warnings  to  Esther  from 
the  witch,  Onagh,  that  a  shroud,  not  a  bridal  robe,  awaited  her. 
Nevertheless,  the  lovers,  closing  ears  and  eyes  to  all  these  omens, 
were  determined  to  be  married  at  the  time  appointed. 

When  the  day  and  hour  came,  the  guests,  bridesmaids,  and 
priest  were  ready.  The  Protestant  clergyman,  however,  had 
not  arrived.  A  disagreeable  pause  ensued.  The  company 
waited,  hour  after  hour.  At  length,  when  darkness  came,  it 
was  decided  to  proceed  without  the  clergyman.  In  the  midst 
of  a  heavy  storm,  Robert  Evelyn  and  Eva  MacDonell  were 
married  by  the  Catholic  ceremonial. 

At  last  the  Protestant  minister,  Mr.  Walker,  arrived  with 


JOHN   BANIM  289 

the  tidings  that  William,  Prince  of  Orange,  had  landed  in  Eng- 
land, This  news  convulsed  the  whole  bridal  party  with  dis- 
cordant passions.  Edmund  was  urged  by  the  Catholics  not  to 
dishonor  his  name  and  blood  by  taking  to  his  bosom  a  heretic. 
Evelyn  and  the  Protestant  clergyman  denounced  this  as  a 
breach  of  faith,  and  Evelyn  was  bidden  by  his  friends  to  lead 
his  sister  away  from  that  idolatrous  roof.  Eva  and  Edmund 
MacDonell  felt  themselves  insulted  by  such  language,  and  re- 
torted by  accusing  Evelyn  of  being  a  secret  plotter  against 
King  James  and  against  the  very  friends  who  would  take  him 
to  their  bosoms. 

"Scandalous  men!"  cried  out  the  old  priest  from  the  altar 
to  both  parties;  "interrupt  not  the  conferring  of  a  sacrament; 
tear  not  asunder  those  whom  God  is  about  to  make  one.  Peace ! 
and  let  the  marriage  be  finished." 

The  words  "traitor"  and  "betrayer"  were  fiercely  bandied 
to  and  fro.  Edmund  sprang  to  the  altar  and  seized  his  sister's 
cold  hand. 

"I  forbid  this  marriage!"  he  said.  "And  I,"  said  Eva, 
"renounce  the  former  one;  your  own  priest  there  has  told  you 
it  is  invalid.  Think  it  so,  and  farewell,  Robert — forever. 
Brother,  your  hand." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  Evelyn  retorted,  "this  lady  shall  never 
be  his  bride,"  and  he  led  his  sister  Esther  down  the  altar- 
steps. 

Just  then  a  screaming,  discordant  voice  at  the  side  window, 
accompanied  by  frantic  hand-clapping,  cried  "Never!"  A 
glare  of  red  light  broke  through  all  the  apertures  in  the  chapel ; 
and  from  window  after  window  was  heard  the  shrill  voice  of 
the  witch  Onagh,  "Never!  Never!"  rising  above  the  chapel- 
roof  like  a  tongue  of  the  tempest. 

This  wretched  ending  of  what  had  been  expected  would  be 
the  happiest  of  events  filled  all  four  lovers  with  the  bitterest 
feelings.  Edmund  and  his  sister  took  public  and  active  part 
in  organizing  and  encouraging  the  militia  troops  to  uphold 
King  James.  Evelyn  at  first  made  several  earnest  efforts  to 
reach  and  talk  with  his  bride.  But  while  she  saved  his  life 
from  attacks  of  her  own  partizans,  she  told  him  that  hence- 
forth they  were  strangers.  "Farewell,  sir!  Poor  renegade 
A.D.,  VOL.  n. — 19 


290  BOYNE  WATER 

from  the  altar  and  the  throne;  perjured  in  love  and  loyalty 
to  man,  to  Heaven,  and  to  me,  farewell!" 

It  was  rumored  that  the  Catholics  had  conspired  to  murder 
the  Protestants  on  the  ninth  of  the  month,  and  Evelyn  removed 
his  sister  Esther  to  what  he  was  told  was  the  safest  place  for 
Protestants  in  this  crisis,  the  city  of  Derry. 

A  regiment  of  King  James's  army  was  just  on  the  point  of 
entering  this  town,  when  the  populace  shut  the  city  gates  in 
the  face  of  the  soldiers.  The  dreaded  9th  of  December,  1688, 
passed  in  quiet.  Nevertheless,  the  Protestant  revolt  spread. 
But  Evelyn  still  hesitated  to  take  up  arms  for  the  Prince 
of  Orange  and  so  further  estrange  his  wife  from  him.  While 
deliberating  what  course  to  adopt,  he  made  a  journey  to  his 
family  estate.  Unfortunately,  approaching  his  home  in  the 
night,  he  found  it  occupied  and  plundered  by  a  roving  com- 
pany of  Catholic  guerrillas,  called  "the  Rapparees."  In  a  fray 
between  them  and  the  Protestants,  Evelyn's  house  was  burned, 
he  nearly  lost  his  life,  and  was  saved  only  by  the  wit  and  courage 
of  an  Irish  peasant  girl,  Moya  Laherty.  Indignant  at  the  con- 
duct of  these  miscreants,  and  at  a  king  and  government  in  whose 
name  such  lawless  outrages  were  perpetrated,  Evelyn  was 
moved  openly  and  actively  to  join  the  Protestant  troops,  and 
became  the  captain  of  a  company.  Journeying  to  Derry  to 
join  his  sister,  he  fell  in  with  a  company  of  soldiers  commanded 
by  Edmund  MacDonell  and  would  have  been  made  a  prisoner 
if  MacDonell  in  his  generosity  had  not  refused  to  accept  his 
surrender.  In  a  night  journey  together,  the  two  young  men 
ignored  all  differences  for  the  time,  and  helped  each  other 
through  terrible  dangers  both  from  inhospitable  Nature  and 
human  foes.  Near  Red  Bay,  Eva,  with  a  number  of  the 
MacDonell  retainers,  met  them,  protected  them  from  a  band 
of  their  pursuers,  and  conducted  them  first  to  the  house  of 
Father  MacDonell  and  next  to  the  great  cliff  by  the  sea,  called 
"The  Fair-head." 

On  the  way  Evelyn  tried  many  times  to  lead  Eva  into  some 
acknowledgment  of  her  forgiveness  of  the  past,  but  for  a  long 
time  in  vain.  At  length  they  toilsomely  climbed  to  the  summit 
of  the  Fair-head  and  looked  off  over  the  ocean  far  and  wide, 
even  to  the  Isles  of  Scotland.    After  gazing  for  some  time  spell- 


JOHN   BANIM  291 

bound  at  the  grand  view,  Evelyn  and  Eva  climbed  down  a  nar- 
row fissure  between  huge  basaltic  columns,  which  made  a  tre- 
mendous staircase  a  thousand  feet  high  from  the  shore  to  the 
top  of  the  bluff.  Here,  overcome  with  emotion,  Evelyn  begged 
Eva  to  forgive  the  past  and  assured  her  of  his  unchanging  love. 
Eva  assured  him  that,  however  much  she  had  felt  alienated, 
she  recognized  the  bond  of  her  marriage  vow  and  her  heart 
could  not  be  indifferent  to  his  dangers  and  his  affection. 

But  when  they  considered  their  future  course,  both  felt  that 
the  political  and  religious  causes  to  which  they  had  respectively 
committed  themselves  could  not  with  honor  be  abandoned. 
Each  urged  the  other  to  withdraw  from  the  contest  and  remain 
neutral.     But  neither  was  wiUing  to  do  so. 

Bitter  as  the  trial  was,  it  was  at  length  agreed  that  neither 
had  a  right  to  force  the  inclinations  of  the  other,  and  that,  while 
the  political  conflict  lasted,  they  should  live  as  strangers  to  each 
other,  except  in  heart,  until  they  could  meet  in  undivided  love. 
Resolute  as  each  was  against  yielding  up  the  cause  that  seemed 
so  imperative,  yet  both  felt  the  pity  and  the  unreasonableness 
of  their  strife. 

"Oh,  Robert!"  cried  Eva,  "did  God  ever  ordain  that  His 
children  should  be  cruelly  tortured  merely  by  a  difference  of 
forms  in  loving  Him?    Why  are  hearts  thus  separated?" 

"Because,"  replied  Evelyn,  "from  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  ambitious  princes  and  churchmen,  captains  and  poli- 
ticians, have  deliberately  made  God's  name  a  watchword  for 
monopoly." 

"And  when,"  asked  Eva,  "shall  religion  bring  peace  and 
good- will  to  men?" 

"When  men  of  every  sect,"  answered  her  husband,  "be- 
come sufficiently  awake  to  their  own  happiness  to  separate  re- 
ligion from  politics,  and  churchmen  from  politicians;  to  bow 
down  reverently  and  sincerely  before  the  minister  of  religion 
as  such,  but  to  confine  him  to  his  ministry." 

Soon  after  this,  a  party  of  Protestant  horsemen  surprised 
them  and  arrested  Edmund  MacDonell.  All  the  explanations 
and  pleadings  of  Evelyn  for  his  friend  were  in  vain,  and  all  the 
mitigation  of  the  arrest  that  he  could  obtain  was  that  MacDonell 
should  remain  as  Evelyn's  prisoner,  only  giving  his  parole  not 


292  BOYNE  WATER 

to  escape.  Evelyn  went  to  Derry  to  join  his  sister  Esther, 
Edmund  attending  him  as  a  prisoner. 

Here  Evelyn  gave  MacDonell  permission  to  visit  his  be- 
trothed as  often  as  he  pleased,  and  the  two  lovers  enjoyed  im- 
interrupted  dreams  of  a  happy  future.  One  day  when  com- 
missioners from  the  besieged  city  went  forth  to  King  James's 
camp  to  treat  with  him  and  his  generals  concerning  a  surrender, 
Evelyn  and  MacDonell  were  permitted  to  accompany  the 
commissioners.  A  Scottish  sergeant  pointed  MacDonell  out 
to  the  Catholic  commander.  In  spite  of  the  explanation 
offered,  the  two  brothers-in-law  were  arrested  as  traitors,  tied 
back  to  back,  and  a  dozen  musketeers  were  ordered  out  to 
execute  them.  Their  eyes  were  bandaged  and  the  friends  had 
grasped  hands,  as  the  click  of  the  locks  was  heard,  only  to 
have  their  bandages  pulled  off  and  MacDonell  offered  his  life 
if  he  would  shoot  his  friend  Evelyn.  In  a  mad  rage,  MacDonell 
turned  the  musket  on  the  tormenting  general  and  singed  his 
hair  with  his  shot.  The  soldiers  leaped  upon  the  two  friends, 
who  in  their  turn  grappled  with  their  foes.  In  the  midst  of 
the  melee  King  James  rode  up,  and  MacDonell  appealed  to 
him  for  protection.  After  much  discussion  it  was  decided  that 
neither  man  was  a  traitor  and  that,  under  the  safe-conduct 
promised  by  King  James,  the  two  should  go  back  to  Derry. 

The  siege  dragged  slowly  along  amidst  terrible  sufferings. 
There  were  thirty  thousand  people  in  the  city  and  only  ten 
days'  provision  for  them.  To  protect  Esther,  it  was  decided 
that  she  ought  to  marry  MacDonell  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
young  men  agreed  that  they  could  not  ask  a  Protestant  clergy- 
man to  perform  the  ceremony,  and  to  get  a  priest  was  difficult. 
So  it  was  determined  to  summon  Eva  and  Father  MacDonell, 
and  a  message  was  sent  to  them.  Weeks  elapsed,  however, 
and  no  answer  came.  Edmund  was  reduced  to  one  coarse 
meal  a  day,  and  Esther's  pallid  cheek  and  sunken  eyes  curdled 
her  lover's  blood  with  gloomy  apprehensions.  At  last  a  note 
was  brought  back  from  Eva,  advising  them  that  she  was  now 
in  the  Irish  camp,  attended  by  the  old  clergyman,  and  that  four 
nights  from  the  date  of  her  writing  she  would  meet  them. 

The  three  in  disguise  contrived  to  pass  the  lines  and  get  out 
to  Columb-Kill's  well,  where  Eva  and  the  old  priest  met  them. 


JOHN   BANIM  293 

The  priest  had  already  begun  the  marriage  ceremony  when  a 
body  of  Protestant  horsemen  came  down  upon  them  and 
arrested  them  all.  The  soldiers  took  the  three  who  had  come 
out  from  Derry  back  to  the  besieged  city,  Esther  screaming 
wildly  because  of  the  treachery  of  Onagh,  the  witch,  by  whose 
information  the  marriage  had  again  been  frustrated.  The 
supply  of  food  in  the  besieged  city  fell  so  low  that  considerable 
sums  were  offered  for  cats,  rats,  mice,  horse-blood,  rawhides, 
and  such  like  offal.  More  than  ten  thousand  of  these  people 
had  died.  Edmund  was  laid  low  with  a  fever,  and  when  he  was 
well  enough  to  totter  to  his  Esther's  house,  he  found  her  wasted 
to  a  shadow  and  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  After  a 
moment  of  frenzied  agitation,  he  burst  out  of  the  room  into  the 
street  and  ran  about  like  a  maniac,  demanding  food.  Some 
rude  men,  pitying  him,  gave  him  food  and  wine,  with  which  he 
sought  Esther.  Finding  her  in  church,  he  bore  her  frantically 
to  the  walls  whence  they  could  look  out  on  the  river,  where  an 
EngUsh  fleet,  with  store-ships,  under  the  command  of  General 
Kirke,  were  attempting  to  ascend  the  stream  to  relieve  the  be- 
sieged people.  Ship  after  ship  essayed  in  vain  to  break  the 
ponderous  boom  with  which  the  besiegers  had  obstructed  the 
river.  At  length,  amidst  a  hoarse  cry  of  joy,  one  strong  ship 
struck  the  huge  barricade  and  broke  it  in  pieces,  and  the  fleet 
sailed  in  with  its  succor  for  the  starving  city.  Edmund  ex- 
ultantly called  on  Esther  to  eat,  and  to  hear  the  shouts  that 
hailed  their  rescue.  But  the  shock  of  joy,  added  to  the  strain 
of  famine  and  despair,  and  the  voice  of  the  dreaded  witch 
Onagh,  which  at  this  moment  sounded  in  her  ears,  was  too 
much  for  her.  Edmund  caught  her  up,  but  when  he  saw  she 
was  dead  he  swooned  with  her  in  his  arms. 

Both  of  the  young  men  now  fell  victims  to  the  fever,  and  Eva 
came  to  nurse  them.  Edmund  had  been  dismissed  from  his 
regiment  with  a  degrading  sentence,  and  the  injustice  of  this, 
as  well  as  the  bitter  grief  from  Esther's  loss,  rankled  in  his 
heart.  After  they  had  one  evening  secretly  visited  Esther's 
grave,  they  departed  together  for  the  MacDonell  homestead. 
When  they  reached  it  they  found  their  old  home  half  burned 
and  the  bodies  of  their  followers,  who  had  dared  to  remain  by 
it,  hanging  from  trees  near  it.     The  blind  harper,  Carolan,  was 


294  BOYNE  WATER 

sitting  on  his  accustomed  stone,  smilingly  singing  a  merry  tune; 
but  on  the  blood-clotted  hearthstone  lay  the  corpse  of  Father 
MacDonell,  his  head  covered  with  red  gashes  that  told  what  a 
brave  fight  he  had  fought  against  his  foes.  Over  the  mangled 
corpse,  the  half-crazed  brother  and  sister  clasped  hands  and 
swore  a  terrible  oath  of  revenge.  Eva's  screams  called  down 
upon  them  General  Kirke  and  his  English  soldiers.  Edmund 
seized  his  father's  sword  from  his  dead  hand  and  cut  down  the 
first  invaders.  Evelyn  and  the  Protestant  clergyman  in  vain 
sought  to  save  their  friends  by  exhibiting  their  protection  papers. 
Then  the  Rapparees  came  to  their  rescue  and  almost  strangled 
General  Kirke.  More  English  soldiers  came  up.  Edmund 
denounced  Evelyn  (as  he  kept  him  back  from  a  useless  attack 
on  the  overwhelming  force  of  the  enemy)  as  one  who  held  him 
to  betray  him  to  the  foe;  the  Rapparee  captain  struck  Evelyn 
with  the  butt  of  his  pistol,  and  he  dropped  insensible.  When 
he  regained  his  senses,  all  were  gone  except  the  peasant  girl, 
Moya  Laherty,  who  held  his  head  on  her  lap.  She  had  band- 
aged his  wounded  head,  and  told  him  that  MacDonell  had  been 
called  away  and  that  his  sister  had  been  carried  off  by  the  dis- 
solute and  cruel  General  Kirke.  The  girl  further  urged  him, 
as  all  his  friends  had  abandoned  him  and  as  so  many  enemies 
were  seeking  his  life,  to  go  away  with  her  to  her  cabin  in  a 
distant  valley  and  give  her  the  peace  and  love  she  had  longed 
for,  while  she  served  and  comforted  him.  Evelyn  refused  and 
thus  incurred  the  unscrupulous  enmity  of  the  jealous  girl. 

Soon  after  this  he  found  himself  arrested  by  General  Kirke 
as  one  who  had  aided  rebels;  but  after  investigation  and  a  duel 
with  Kirke,  in  which  he  nearly  perished,  he  was  appointed  an 
aide-de-camp  to  General  Schomberg,  in  command  of  King 
William's  troops.  After  several  months'  service  in  Ireland, 
he  was  sent  to  London  to  carry  despatches  to  King  William. 
On  the  eve  of  his  departure  he  found  among  his  belongings  a 
sealed  note  from  Eva,  returning  her  marriage  ring  and  declar- 
ing that  his  course  had  made  their  separation  indispensable; 
and  besides  that,  she  added,  ruin  and  degradation  had  come 
between  them.  This  brought  to  a  horrid  certainty  his  worst 
apprehensions  on  Eva's  account  in  connection  with  General 
Kirke. 


JOHN   BANIM  295 

In  London,  Evelyn,  with  his  deputation,  was  summoned 
to  King  William's  palace  at  Kensington,  and  there  he  caught 
sight  of  a  youth  whose  dress,  face,  and  figure  were  strangely 
like  those  of  Eva  disguised  in  man's  attire.  In  a  secluded  spot, 
the  youth  drew  a  dagger  from  his  bosom,  half  bared  it,  and 
kissed  it  fervently.  But  when  Evelyn  advanced  a  step,  the 
unknown  one  darted  into  the  thick  shrubbery  and  disappeared. 
This  sight  awakened  the  most  dreadful  thoughts  in  Evelyn's 
brain,  suggesting  that  Eva  had  given  herself  over  to  wild  and 
ruinous  revenge  on  King  William. 

On  returning  to  Ireland,  after  many  months,  Evelyn  anx- 
iously sought  to  reach  and  speak  with  his  wife.  By  the  kindness 
of  General  Sarsfield  (to  whom  he  frankly  told  his  story  and  his 
object),  he  was  invited  to  accompany  him  to  a  reception  at 
Dublin  Castle.  There  he  saw  and  spoke  with  King  James 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  wife.  He  pushed  toward  her  to 
speak  to  her,  but  the  bustling  group  of  courtiers  and  ladies-in- 
waiting  obstructed  his  passage  until  she  had  disappeared. 

Rejoining  the  Protestant  army,  of  which  King  William  had 
personally  taken  command,  Evelyn  took  a  prominent  part  as 
an  aide-de-camp  in  the  famous  battle  of  "Boyne  Water."  His 
fidelity  and  intrepidity  exposed  him  to  the  greatest  dangers. 
At  length  he  was  cut  off  from  his  comrades  and  madly  struck 
at  the  band  of  horsemen  that  surrounded  him.  "To  the 
traitor's  heart!"  cried  a  furious  assailant;  and,  as  he  fell, 
stunned  by  a  sword-cut,  the  features  of  Eva  MacDonell  swam 
before  his  eyes,  and  Evelyn  believed  that  her  sword  had  been 
raised  to  shed  his  blood. 

When  he  regained  his  senses,  he  found  himself  the  prisoner 
of  General  Sarsfield,  of  King  James's  army.  With  him  Evelyn 
went  to  Dublin,  and  the  next  morning  at  the  royal  castle  he 
overheard  his  Eva  reproaching  King  James  for  having  so  pre- 
maturely deserted  the  field  at  the  battle  of  the  Boyne.  Amidst 
the  confusion  attending  the  departure  of  the  King  and  his 
retinue  for  France,  Evelyn  found  opportunity  to  address  a  few 
hurried  words  to  his  wife,  assuring  her  of  his  continued  love 
and  begging  her  to  accept  his  protection  and  make  him  happy 
again.  But  with  a  strangely  mingled  expression  of  coldness, 
loftiness,  and  deepest  sorrow,  she  silently  walked  away. 


296  BOYNE  WATER 

With  General  Sarsfield,  Evelyn  was  taken  to  Limerick.  At 
a  Rapparee  camp,  Evelyn  discovered  Edmund  MacDonell, 
acting  as  their  secret  commander.  But  when  Evelyn  anxiously 
mquired  for  Eva,  Edmund  angrily  denounced  him  as  a  knave 
and  liar  who  had  basely  deserted  his  wife. 

On  returning  to  Limerick,  Evelyn  was  detained  there  many 
trying  months  while  the  siege  of  the  city  dragged  along.  At 
length  King  William  departed,  leaving  General  Ginkle  in 
command  of  the  English  forces,  but  empowered  to  make  any 
terms  of  peace  with  the  enemy  that  seemed  at  all  fair.  General 
Sarsfield  and  the  Catholics  had  lost  their  patience,  waiting  for 
the  promised  fleet  and  reenforcements  from  France.  Even  the 
Papist  clergy  strongly  urged  a  treaty,  and  at  length,  on  a  memo- 
rable day,  the  two  commanders-in-chief  of  the  opposing  armies, 
with  their  lawyers  and  advisers,  met  in  General  Ginkle's  camp 
to  discuss  and  sign  a  treaty.  On  this  very  morning,  as  Evelyn 
stood  on  the  walls  of  Limerick,  he  encountered  James  MacDonell. 
After  a  long  and  excited  colloquy,  in  which  Carolan,  Onagh, 
and  Moya  Laherty  soon  joined,  it  came  out  that  the  stories  that 
had  so  alienated  Edmund  and  Eva  MacDonell  from  Evelyn, 
and  filled  him  with  suspicion  and  indignation  against  them, 
were  chiefly  lies  and  treacheries,  for  which  the  revengeful  Moya 
Laherty  was  responsible.  In  shame  and  remorse,  the  peasant 
girl  confessed  that  the  story  that  Evelyn  had  abandoned  his 
wife  at  the  MacDonell  homestead  and  sent  back  word  that  he 
was  weary  of  her  love  was  only  an  invention  of  her  own.  It  was 
Moya  also  who  put  the  false  letter  from  Eva  among  Evelyn's 
effects,  and  in  disguise  stole  his  wedding-ring  and  other  precious 
tokens  and  sent  them  back  to  his  wife,  as  if  he  had  cast  her  off. 
The  face  that  Evelyn  had  seen  in  his  camp,  and  again  in  the 
garden  of  King  William  at  Kensington,  and  on  the  battlefield 
of  the  Boyne  Water,  seeking  his  life's  blood,  was  not  Eva's,  as 
he  had  supposed,  but  that  of  her  younger  brother  James,  whose 
features  strikingly  resembled  his  sister's.  James,  unknown  to 
Evelyn,  had  returned  from  Spain  to  help  the  Catholic  party 
by  assassinating  King  William.  Evelyn's  strongest  wish  now 
was  to  return  to  Eva's  hand  their  former  bond  of  union,  the 
marriage  ring.  Soon,  conducted  by  Carolan,  Eva  appeared. 
Onagh,  Carolan,  and  James  MacDonell  disclosed  to  her  the 


JOHN   BANIM  297 

recently  discovered  tricks,  falsehoods,  and  misunderstandings 
that  had  caused  so  much  trouble,  and  how  the  blind  harper, 
Carolan,  by  long  journeys  in  France  and  Ireland,  had  brought 
the  truth  to  light.  The  dreadful  wrongs  that  Onagh  had 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  MacDonells'  dead  brother,  Donald, 
were  also  rehearsed.  Eva  held  out  her  arms  to  Evelyn  and  in 
a  moment  was  clasped  to  his  heart.  But  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  happiness  of  reconciliation,  a  Rapparee  messenger  came  in, 
seeking  General  Sarsfield,  with  the  news  that  Edmund  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  General  Ginkle  and  was  about  to  be 
shot.  Eva,  seeking  General  Sarsfield's  aid,  learned  that  he 
was  in  the  English  commander's  camp,  arranging  a  treaty  of 
surrender;  and  inasmuch  as  she  knew  that  a  French  fleet  was 
sailing  for  Limerick  to  reenforce  the  Catholic  army,  she  then 
dashed  off  to  General  Ginkle's  camp  to  save  her  brother  and 
prevent  General  Sarsfield  from  signing  the  treaty  of  surrender. 
But  the  moment  before  that  in  which  she  gained  audience  with 
the  Irish-Catholic  commander  he  had  signed  the  treaty,  and 
although  notified  of  the  near  approach  of  the  French  fleet. 
General  Sarsfield  would  not  go  back  on  his  word  of  honor. 
The  signing  of  the  treaty  barely  saved  Edmund's  life;  but  it 
led  in  a  few  days  to  the  embarkation  upon  the  French  fleet  of 
most  of  General  Sarsfield's  ofl&cers  and  men.  The  MacDonell 
brothers  determined  to  sail  with  them  to  France,  to  continue 
fighting  for  King  James's  cause. 

Eva  was  at  first  resolved,  in  loyalty  to  the  faith  and  the  King 
for  whom  she  had  so  struggled  and  suffered,  to  go  with  her 
brothers.  But  Evelyn's  pleadings  had  shaken  her  determina- 
tion. Her  brothers  had  already  stepped  into  the  boat,  and 
Eva,  her  eyes  blinded  with  tears,  was  about  to  follow  them, 
when  Evelyn  cried:  "And  do  you  indeed  leave  me  with  but 
this  mocking  symbol  of  an  eternal  fate,  once  solemnly  sworn  at 
the  altar?"  and,  as  Evelyn  caught  her  arm,  he  showed  her  their 
marriage  ring  and  replaced  it  on  her  finger.  Her  brothers,  not 
displeased,  saw  which  way  God  and  woman's  nature  at  last 
swayed  her.  They  embraced  their  sister,  while  she  clung 
sobbing  to  them.  Then  Evelyn  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and 
the  boat  put  off,  leaving  husband  and  wife  united  at  last. 


SABINE  BARING-GOULD 

(England,   1 834-1 906) 
GRETTIR    THE    OUTLAW    (i860) 

This  stor}'  is  a  transcription  of  an  Icelandic  saga  entitled  Grettir  the  Strong. 
With  only  a  Danish  grammar  of  Icelandic  available,  Mr.  Baring-Gould  began 
the  translation,  first  having  to  learn  Danish.  He  was  then  a  schoolmaster, 
and  wTote  after  school  hours.  He  had  visited  Iceland  (1861)  and  had  gone 
over  the  ground  of  Grettir's  experiences,  so  that  he  had  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
country.  When  Iceland  was  actually  discovered  is  not  known,  nor  is  it  known 
when  the  first  Europeans  made  it  their  home,  but  the  definite  settlement  began 
about  870,  when  many  Norwegians  refused  to  acknowledge  the  sovereignty 
of  Harold  Fairhair.  By  the  year  in  which  Grettir  was  born,  997,  more  than  fifty 
thousand  persons  were  distributed  along  the  coast  of  the  island,  where  haymaking 
was  practicable,  the  interior  being  largely  a  volcanic  desert  interspersed  with 
rounded  mountains  of  ice,  called  jokulls.  Many  of  the  settlers  came  from  the 
northern  portions  of  the  British  Isles,  some  Norse  and  some  GaeHc.  There 
was  no  government,  each  first  settler  of  a  locahty  directing  affairs  around  him. 
Feuds  among  the  various  groups,  as  well  as  among  individuals,  were  common, 
and  blood  atonement  and  blood-money  settlement  were  a  part  of  the  un\vritten 
law  of  the  time.  A  sort  of  parliament  was  estabhshed  in  930,  called  the  Althing, 
with  four  Things,  or  subcourts,  one  for  each  quarter  of  the  island.  The  Althing 
convened  once  a  year,  at  a  place  called  ThingvelHr,  for  the  Lawman  to  hear 
grievances  and  pass  judgment.  There  were  no  primitive  people  in  Iceland, 
Eskimos  or  the  like,  so  far  as  known,  when  the  Europeans  discovered  it.  The 
population  is,  and  always  has  been,  entirely  European.  The  farmhouses  are 
built  mainly  of  turf,  with  front  and  rear  gables  of  wood.  Being  almost  under 
the  Arctic  Circle,  Iceland  has  no  darkness  in  summer  and  no  sunlight  in  wanter. 
About  two  hvmdred  and  fifty  years  after  the  death  of  Grettir  his  history  was 
committed  to  writing,  and  during  this  time  deeds  of  other  men,  as  well  as  fan- 
tastic legends,  were  grafted  upon  it;  but  the  main  facts  of  his  life  are  true  history. 

RETTIR  THE  STRONG  was  the  son  of  a  well- 
to-do  farmer  of  Biarg,  in  Iceland,  and  was  de- 
scended from  some  of  the  great  nobles  of  Nor- 
way. He  was  not  good-looking  as  a  boy.  He 
had  reddish  hair,  a  pale  face  full  of  freckles,  and 
light-blue  eyes.  But  he  was  broadly  built,  and  he 
grew  to  be  an  immense  man.  His  disposition 
was  wilful,  headstrong,  and  obstinate.  Never 
did  he  do  anything  cheerfully,  and  it  was  easier 
to  let  him  alone  than  to  receive  his  sullen  assistance. 

298 


SABINE   BARING-GOULD  299 

When  Grettir  was  fourteen  years  old,  a  friend  of  his  father, 
Thorkel  Krafla,  passing  on  his  way  to  the  Althing  at  Thing- 
vellir,  took  him  along  to  see  what  he  was  made  of.  From  one 
of  the  camps  their  horses  strayed.  Grettir  finally  found  his 
horse,  but  not  his  provision-bag,  which  had  fallen  from  the 
saddle.  Presently  he  saw  another  man,  also  hunting  for  a 
provision-bag.  The  rest  of  the  party  had  moved  on.  Just 
then  the  stranger,  Skeggi,  found  a  bag;  a  dispute  ensued,  for 
Grettir  thought  the  bag  was  his.  During  the  quarrel,  Skeggi 
struck  at  Grettir  with  an  ax,  which  the  boy  deftly  caught,  and, 
wrenching  it  from  his  opponent's  grasp,  cleft  his  skull  with  it. 
Then  he  went  on  with  the  bag,  which  he  was  sure  was  his 
own.  When  he  was  asked  what  had  become  of  Skeggi,  he 
replied  by  singing  a  stanza  of  his  own  composing  after  the 
fashion  of  the  time — a  periphrasis  of  what  had  happened.  He 
was  understood,  and  some  men  went  back  to  the  place  where 
Skeggi  was  lying  dead;  but  Grettir  continued  the  journey, 
well  pleased  with  his  skill,  to  lay  the  matter  before  the  Lawman 
at  the  Althing.  The  rule  was  for  the  slayer  to  appear  by  proxy 
and  offer  blood-money  to  the  nearest  of  kin.  If  this  form  of 
settlement  was  refused,  they  had  the  alternative  of  pursuing 
the  offender  to  the  death.  Thorkel  appeared  for  Grettir,  with 
the  result  that  Skeggi's  relatives  were  satisfied  with  the  money 
offered,  so  Grettir  was  free  from  hindrance  by  them;  but  the 
Lawman  decided  that  Grettir  must  be  outlawed  and  leave  Ice- 
land for  three  winters.  Should  he  set  foot  there  within  that 
period  his  life  was  forfeit.  Thus  began  the  long  outlawry  of 
Grettir,  and  he  departed  for  Norway. 

His  father  refused  to  give  him  weapons,  fearing  he  might 
put  them  to  bad  use ;  but  his  mother  went  with  him  a  distance 
down  the  valley  and,  unobserved,  presented  him  with  a  good 
sword  she  had  carried  under  her  cloak — a  sword  that  had  be- 
longed to  his  grandfather.  On  the  voyage  Grettir  was  unruly, 
as  usual,  and  made  himself  disliked.  They  lost  their  bearings 
and  one  night  ran  on  the  rocks  of  the  Norwegian  coast.  With 
great  difficulty  all  got  ashore,  with  their  goods,  on  a  sandy  island 
where  lived  a  wealthy  farmer  named  Thorfin.  This  man 
helped  the  castaways  on  their  road,  but  Grettir,  though  not 
much  wanted,  remained  with  him.     About  Yule-time,  Thorfin, 


300  GRETTIR   THE   OUTLAW 

with  all  but  his  wife,  his  daughter,  who  was  ill,  and  some  serving- 
men,  departed  for  a  Yule-feast  at  a  distance.  Grettir  was  not 
desired  for  any  merrymaking,  and  he  too  was  left  at  the  farm. 
On  Christmas  Day,  toward  evening,  as  he  sat  gazing  discon- 
solately over  the  sea,  he  spied  a  suspicious-looking  boat  stealing 
toward  the  shore.  Twelve  armed  men  were  in  it.  They  broke 
open  Thorfin's  boat-house  and  placed  their  own  boat  in  the 
place  of  his.  Grettir  sauntered  down  in  his  nonchalant  way, 
and  asked  them  who  they  might  be.  They  replied:  "Thorir- 
wi'-the-Paunch  and  Bad  Ogmund."  These  two  were  brothers 
and  the  most  desperate  of  all  Red  Rovers,  burning,  murdering, 
and  laying  waste  everywhere  they  went. 

"We  have  come  to  settle  a  little  reckoning,"  they  said.  "Is 
Thorfin  at  home?" 

"You  are  lucky,"  laughed  Grettir.  "He's  away  with  all 
his  fighting  men  for  a  couple  of  days.  Follow  me  and  I'll  do 
what  I  can  for  you." 

Everybody  at  the  house  hid  in  terror.  Grettir  dried  the 
weapons,  set  them  by  the  fire  lest  they  should  rust,  exchanged 
their  wet  garments  for  dry  ones  from  Thorfin's  wardrobe,  and 
waited  on  the  pirates  till  they  declared  he  should  be  one  of  them. 
Before  a  roaring  fire  he  gave  them  the  best  and  strongest  ale  in 
abundance,  and  presently  they  grew  tipsy.  Then  Grettir  pro- 
posed that  before  bedtime  they  should  take  a  look  into  Thor- 
fin's great  log  warehouse  and  see  the  fine  treasures  there. 
Across  the  yard  and  into  the  building  they  staggered,  yelling 
their  joy,  and  immediately  began  to  quarrel  over  the  stores. 
In  the  midst  of  this  turmoil,  Grettir  extinguished  the  torch, 
stepped  out,  and  slid  the  bolt  on  the  heavy  door.  He  then 
called  for  help  from  the  house,  but  the  eight  serving-men  re- 
mained hidden.  Securing  a  spear  and  helmet,  and  girding  on 
a  sword,  he  rushed  again  to  the  storehouse,  arriving  just  as  the 
pirates  had  broken  through  into  a  lean-to  and  were  smashing 
the  door  of  that  structure.  They  came  out  on  a  landing,  armed 
with  pieces  of  plank,  and  in  the  moonlight  the  two  fierce  brothers 
dashed  down  upon  Grettir.  Planting  the  butt  of  the  spear  on 
the  ground,  he  received  one  upon  it,  at  the  same  time  badly 
wounding  the  other  with  the  blade.  The  other  men  he  cut 
right  and  left  till  those  in  the  rear  ran,  believing  a  large  number 


SABINE   BARING-GOULD  301 

against  them;  those  in  front  speedily  followed.  Grettir  pur- 
sued and  killed  all  but  two,  who,  the  next  day,  were  found 
frozen  under  a  rock. 

Another  of  Grettir's  adventures  at  this  place  was  the  en- 
trance into  the  tomb  of  Karr-the-Old,  which  was  on  a  desolate 
promontory.  Flames  were  said  to  dance  over  hidden  treasure, 
and  often  he  saw  them  dance  over  this  lonely  tomb.  He  per- 
suaded a  friend  named  Audun  to  go  there  with  him,  and  was 
lowered  into  the  black  chamber  after  he  had  broken  a  hole  at 
the  top.  There  sat  the  long-dead  Karr  on  a  throne.  Grettir 
helped  himself  to  the  treasures  he  saw  and  placed  them  in  a 
vessel  to  be  hauled  up.  Then  he  took  from  the  dead  man  a 
short  sword,  and  finally  began  to  unhook  a  gold  torque  from  the 
neck,  when,  amidst  a  glare  of  phosphorescent  light,  as  his  hands 
were  undoing  the  clasp  behind  Karr's  neck,  the  body  stood  up 
with  a  roar  like  a  bull,  and  embraced  Grettir  in  an  iron  grip. 
Then  began  a  fearful  wrestle.  Grettir  was  well-nigh  smothered 
by  the  long  gray  beard  of  the  dead  chief.  The  two  staggered  to 
and  fro  about  the  chamber,  kicking  bones  about,  stumbling 
against  the  walls,  and  bringing  down  masses  of  turf  and  planks 
from  above.  At  last  Karr's  feet  gave  way,  and  Grettir  fell  over 
him.  Then  with  the  short-sword  Grettir  smote  off  Old  Karr's 
head  and  laid  it  beside  his  thigh,  the  only  way  in  which  to  pre- 
vent the  evil  spirits  from  making  a  dead  man  walk.  Audun 
had  run  away,  so  Grettir  climbed  the  rope  with  his  treasures 
and  made  his  way  home. 

In  the  spring  he  left  Thorfin's  farm  and  went  along  the 
coast,  being  made  much  of,  as  the  story  of  his  defeat  of  the 
rovers  had  spread. 

The  next  winter  he  passed  with  another  farmer  called 
Thorgils,  a  very  pleasant  man.  Among  the  visitors  was  one 
Biorn,  with  whom  Grettir  was  soon  at  odds.  While  the  whole 
party  one  day  were  engaged  in  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  kill 
a  troublesome  bear,  this  man  threw  Grettir's  fur  coat  into  the 
lair.  Grettir  said  nothing,  but  on  the  way  home  he  stopped, 
pretending  to  repair  his  shoe,  and  as  soon  as  the  others  had 
gone,  he  went  back  to  fight  the  bear  alone.  Creeping  up  the 
narrow  path,  the  animal  came  fiercely  dovm  to  destroy  him. 
The  battle  was  desperate,  till  finally  both  rolled  off  the  ledge. 


302  GRETTIR   THE   OUTLAW 

Grettir  landed  on  top,  and  as  the  fall  had  broken  the  bear's 
back,  he  took  one  paw  and  carried  it  to  the  house,  where  all 
rejoiced  at  his  triumph  except  Biorn.  He  sneered,  and  Grettir 
would  have  fought  him  had  it  been  permissible  on  his  friend's 
estate.  Later,  he  met  him  at  a  seaport  and  killed  him.  Earl 
Sweyn,  who  had  dominion  here,  named  a  sum  which  should  be 
paid  to  Biorn's  brother,  but  the  latter  refused  it  and  lay  in  wait 
for  Grettir,  giving  him  a  bad  wound  in  the  back.  The  brother 
was  killed  also,  as  well  as  some  of  his  men.  The  Earl  wished 
to  banish  Grettir  for  this,  but  he  remained  over  the  third  winter, 
and  in  the  spring,  his  outlawry  being  ended,  he  returned  to 
Iceland. 

Horse-fights  were  the  sport  of  the  time,  and  in  one  of  these 
Grettir  was  imposed  upon  and  resented  it,  A  feud  resulted 
between  Grettir  and  Kormack,  the  owner  of  the  opposing 
horse.  Not  long  after  that,  the  two  young  men  met  on  the 
plain,  and  a  fight  followed,  which  was  stopped  by  the  arrival 
of  a  man  named  Oxmain.  The  feud  was  dropped,  and  all 
would  have  been  well  had  not  a  brother  of  Oxmain's,  nick- 
named "  Slowcoach,"  sneered  at  it. 

Grettir  now  heard  of  a  haunted  valley,  and  he  went  to  stay 
with  the  frightened  farmer  that  lived  there,  named  Thorhall,  to 
see  what  might  happen.  It  was  said  that  the  corpse  of  a  former 
shepherd,  named  Glam,  haunted  the  place.  Grettir  wished  to 
meet  it,  though  it  was  reported  to  be  a  fierce  wraith,  and  had 
killed  the  shepherd  who  was  employed  in  his  stead.  Nothing 
happened  to  Grettir  himself  the  first  night  of  his  stay  at  Thor- 
hall's,  but  his  horse's  neck  was  broken  by  some  mysterious 
force.  The  next  night  Thorhall  locked  himself  within  his  bed, 
much  frightened.  Iceland  beds  were  like  portable  closets. 
Grettir  lay  by  the  fire  wrapped  in  a  fur  cloak,  which  he  pulled 
over  his  head.  Suddenly  he  heard  something  that  shook  all 
the  sleep  out  of  him.  A  heavy  tread  crunched  the  snow  around 
the  house.  Then  a  crash  overhead  told  that  the  visitor  was  on 
the  roof.  Grettir,  peeping  from  his  cloak,  saw  the  monster's 
eyes  glaring  down  the  smoke-hole.  Sounds  of  wreckage  were 
heard  outside,  and  then  the  door  yielded.  It  was  Glam.  He 
prowled  around,  and  finally  pulled  at  the  bundle  by  the  fire. 
Grettir  grappled  with  him;    he  drove  his  powerful  head  into 


SABINE   BARING-GOULD  303 

Glam's  breast,  then  tried  to  bend  him  backward  and  break  his 
spine.  Then  followed  a  fearful  struggle  for  mastery,  Glam 
trying  to  drag  Grettir  outside  where  he  could  easily  kill  him. 
Grettir  clung  to  the  door-posts,  but  presently  down  crashed  the 
gable- trees,  ripping  beams  and  rafters  from  their  places.  Glam 
fell  on  his  back  and  Grettir  on  top  of  him,  weak  but  still  able 
to  hold  Glam  down.     Then  Glam  said : 

*'You  have  done  ill,  matching  yourself  with  me;  now  know 
that  never  shall  you  be  stronger  than  you  are  to-day,  and  that 
to  your  dying  day,  whenever  you  are  in  the  dark,  you  will  see 
my  eyes  staring  at  you,  so  that  for  very  horror  you  will  not  dare 
to  be  alone."  At  this  moment  Grettir  saw  his  short-sword  in 
the  snow,  where  it  had  fallen — the  same  he  had  taken  from 
Karr-the-Old — and  with  it  he  severed  Glam's  head  and  laid  it 
beside  his  thigh.     On  a  pile  of  fagots  the  body  was  burned. 

In  the  spring  of  1015,  Grettir  decided  to  go  to  Norway.  It 
chanced  that  Slowcoach,  the  brother  of  Oxmain,  was  a  passenger 
on  the  same  ship.  His  friends  tried  to  dissuade  him  from 
going  when  it  was  learned  that  Grettir  was  on  the  boat.  But 
Slowcoach  defied  Grettir  and  made  insulting  remarks  about  his 
father  and  about  Grettir  himself.  Grettir  had  not  forgotten 
the  ending  of  the  battle  over  the  horse-fight,  and  was  ready  for 
a  quarrel.  The  result  was  an  immediate  encounter,  and  Gret- 
tir's  skilful  sword  did  its  work.  The  ship  carried  him  to  Nor- 
way, and,  landing  in  a  cove  one  night  without  fire,  Grettir  swam 
to  a  light  on  the  other  side,  which  proved  to  be  from  an  inn 
where  two  sons  of  an  Iceland  chieftain,  Thorir  of  Garth,  were 
holding  revelry.  Grettir's  clothing  had  frozen  on  him  and  he 
was  a  wild-looking  object  as  he  scraped  embers  from  the  inn 
fire  into  an  iron  pot  he  had  brought.  The  company  attacked 
him,  and  he  defended  himself  with  a  heavy  firebrand.  The 
burning  coals  were  scattered  through  the  straw  on  the  floor, 
and  amidst  the  flames  and  smoke  Grettir  made  his  escape. 

He  swam  back  across  the  arm  of  the  sea,  carrying  the  burn- 
ing embers  in  the  iron  pot.  In  the  morning  the  skipper  recog- 
nized the  locality,  and  Grettir  was  accused  of  maliciously  de- 
stroying the  inn  and  the  sons  of  the  distinguished  Thorir  with 
it.  To  preserve  themselves  from  a  similar  charge,  the  company 
expelled  Grettir,  who  made  his  way  on  foot  to  Drontheim. 


304  GRETTIR   THE   OUTLAW 

There  he  laid  the  matter  before  the  Kmg  and  was  sentenced  to 
go  through  the  ordeal  of  fire.  He  was  fed  on  bread  and  water 
for  a  week  and  taught  to  pray  that  if  he  were  innocent  God 
should  reveal  it  by  enabling  him  to  pass  unscathed  through 
this  trial.  A  great  procession,  with  the  King  at  the  head,  led 
him  to  the  test,  and  all  went  smoothly  till  Grettir  resented  the 
insults  of  a  bystander  by  tossing  him  into  the  air.  This  caused 
a  general  disturbance;  and  it  was  reported  that  the  Icelander 
was  fighting  the  whole  town.  By  this  time  the  hot  irons  had 
cooled,  and  the  King  gave  up  the  ordeal  and  passed  a  sentence 
of  banishment  instead.  As  no  ship  could  be  taken  to  Iceland 
till  spring,  Grettir  was  tolerated  until  that  time.  He  went  to 
stay  with  a  farmer  called  Einar,  in  a  lonely  place  exposed  to 
the  raids  of  bandits  who  wore  bearskins  with  the  heads  pulled 
over  their  faces  and  were  called  Bearsarks.  Their  custom  was 
to  pretend  mad  frenzy  when  making  their  demands.  Snoekoll, 
one  of  the  worst  of  these,  came  to  Einar's  on  a  huge  black  horse, 
with  several  followers  on  foot.  Snoekoll  threatened  to  go  into 
a  paroxysm. 

"Let  us  see  how  you  look  in  a  fit,"  calmly  said  Grettir, 
whereat  Snoekoll  bellowed,  roared,  rolled  his  eyes,  blew  foam 
from  his  lips,  and  bit  hard  on  his  iron  shield.  At  a  moment 
when  he  was  clenching  the  shield  furiously  between  his  teeth, 
Grettir  gave  it  a  sudden  kick  upward,  and  the  leverage  broke 
the  Bearsark's  jaw.  Quickly  pulling  him  from  his  horse,  Grettir 
killed  him  with  his  own  sword,  while  the  followers  ran  away. 

Einar  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  of  whom  Grettir  was  much 
enamored,  but  as  he  knew  a  man  of  his  reputation  would  have 
no  chance  in  that  direction,  he  departed  to  live  for  a  time  with 
a  half-brother,  Thorstein  Dromund,  a  man  of  wealth.  Dro- 
mund,  on  parting,  swore  to  avenge  Grettir  if  anyone  should 
kill  him,  a  promise  which  he  fulfilled. 

Meanwhile  more  ill  luck  was  befalling  Grettir  in  Iceland. 
Oxmain,  whose  brother,  Slowcoach,  Grettir  had  killed,  went  to 
Biarg  and  killed  Atli,  Grettir's  brother;  and  Thorir  of  Gaith, 
hearing  of  the  burning  of  his  two  sons  at  the  inn  fire,  went  to 
the  Althing  and  charged  Grettir  with  their  murder.  The  Law- 
man declined  to  pass  judgment  on  this  one-sided  evidence;  but 
the  power  of  Thorir's  influence  compelled  the  proclaiming  of 


SABINE   BARING-GOULD  305 

Grettir  an  outlaw  throughout  the  whole  of  Iceland,  and  a  price 
was  put  on  the  absent  man's  head. 

So  when  Grettir  at  last  returned  to  his  native  shores  he  was 
met  with  thrice  bad  news.  His  father  had  died;  his  brother 
was  killed,  and  he  was  again  declared  an  outlaw.  A  few  days 
he  remained  at  home  with  his  mother  and  his  remaining  brother, 
young  Illugi;  then  he  went  to  Oxmain's  farm  and  had  a  battle 
with  him  and  his  son,  killing  both  in  the  open  j5eld.  In  this 
fight  he  lost  a  silver-inlaid  spear-head,  which  never  was  found 
till  the  year  1250.  He  was  now  an  outlaw  indeed,  for  the  kins- 
men of  Oxmain  and  Thorir,  with  all  their  power,  were  continu- 
ally in  pursuit  of  him.  His  relatives  laid  the  whole  matter  be- 
fore the  Althing.  Snorri,  a  new  judge,  suggested  that  a  fine 
imposed  should  be  dropped;  that  the  outlawry  should  be  set 
aside,  and  that  the  slaying  of  Thorbiorn  Oxmain  should  be 
balanced  by  the  slaying  of  Atli,  Grettir's  brother.  This  ar- 
rangement would  have  prevailed  had  it  not  been  for  the  im- 
placable Thorir  of  Garth.  He  even  increased  the  price  set  on 
Grettir's  head  to  three  marks  of  silver,  and  to  this  Thorod,  the 
kinsman  of  Oxmain,  added  three  more.   , 

Grettir  was  now  hunted  like  a  dog,  and  never  could  remain 
long  in  one  place,  unless  it  was  out  in  the  desert  of  lava  and 
jokulls,  where  he  found  it  difficult  to  secure  provisions.  In 
winter  he  could  stay  with  some  friendly  farmer  in  an  out-of- 
the-way  place,  but  in  summer  he  must  be  continually  moving. 
Once  he  took  up  his  quarters  for  the  winter  at  a  place  called 
Eagle  Lake  Heath,  a  hard  day's  journey  from  his  home,  and 
a  bleak  locality.  Other  outlaws  wished  to  join  him  here,  and 
Grettir's  enemies,  who  were  all  afraid  of  him,  arranged  with 
one  called  Grim  to  pretend  friendliness  and  find  an  opportunity 
to  kill  him.  But  Grettir  was  on  his  guard  and  gave  no  chance. 
Another  outlaw,  named  Redbeard,  was  hired  to  do  the  same 
thing.  Grettir  would  have  remained  alone,  but  Glam's  words 
haunted  him,  and  he  was  nervous  about  being  without  some 
companion  and  feared  the  dark.  Redbeard  had  no  chance 
the  first  winter,  but  during  the  second  he  formed  a  plan  that 
nearly  succeeded;  but  Grettir  triumphed  over  him  and  killed 
him.  A  large  body  of  armed  men  then  tried  to  capture  Grettir, 
but  he  found  a  place  of  vantage  and  defeated  them.    He  would 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 20 


3o6  GRETTIR  THE   OUTLAW 

not  have  succeeded  in  this  had  not  a  friend  of  his,  unknown  to 
Grettir,  beaten  off  the  attacking  party  from  his  rear.  This 
friend  was  Hallmund,  who  Hved  in  a  cave  some  distance  away, 
and  Grettir  went  with  him  to  his  home.  It  had  now  come  to 
such  a  pass  that  even  those  who  favored  Grettir's  cause  were 
afraid  to  sheher  him  or  give  him  food. 

Grettir  consequently  became  a  nuisance  in  every  neighbor- 
hood, for  he  was  obliged  to  steal  sheep  and  forage  on  the  farms. 
At  one  time  three  separate  bodies  of  armed  men  closed  in  on 
him,  but,  with  the  help  of  two  friends,  who  defended  his  back, 
on  a  point  of  rocks  jutting  into  a  river,  Grettir  defeated  them 
by  his  great  strength  and  his  skill  in  swordsmanship. 

After  this,  Grettir,  with  his  brother  Illugi  and  a  servant 
named  Glaum,  went  to  the  island  of  Drangey,  which  lay  five 
miles  off  the  shore  and  was  bounded  by  precipitous  cliffs.  A 
rope  ladder  led  to  its  grassy  summit.  This  ladder  had  been 
put  there  by  farmers  who  had  right  to  graze  sheep  on  the  island. 
Eighty  sheep  were  wandering  there  when  Grettir  arrived.  He 
drew  up  the  ladder  and  prevented  the  farmers  from  recovering 
their  stock,  which  meanwhile  he  used  for  subsistence.  The 
exiles  also  had  plenty  of  eggs  and  birds,  but  they  lacked  vege- 
tables. There  was  also  driftwood  for  fuel,  and  the  island 
offered  a  comfortable  refuge  till  Grettir's  term  of  outlawry 
should  expire.  In  the  summer  of  1031  his  friends  brought  up 
the  subject  at  the  Althing.  He  had  now  been  in  outlawry  nine- 
teen years,  and  the  judge  ruled  that  no  man  could  be  outlawed 
more  than  twenty  years.  Grettir,  then,  had  one  year  more  of 
exile  to  pass.  One  of  the  farmers,  named  Hook,  who  had 
rights  on  Drangey,  was  a  brutal  fellow,  and  he  determined  to 
destroy  Grettir.  He  caused  his  foster-mother,  who  was  a  witch, 
to  cast  a  spell  upon  him  from  a  boat.  She  cut  some  runes  on 
a  log  of  driftwood,  which  later  was  washed  on  the  shore  of 
Drangey.  Grettir,  in  attempting  to  chop  this  log,  cut  his  leg 
severely.  Blood-poison  set  in;  Grettir  lay  in  fever  and  dis- 
tress; and  one  stormy  night  Hook  and  a  band  of  men  gained 
the  summit  and  attacked  the  hut.  Grettir  and  Illugi  fought 
desperately,  but  they  were  overpowered,  Grettir,  indeed,  being 
in  his  death-throes  when  he  struck  his  last  blow.  They  killed 
Illugi  too,  as  he  refused  to  swear  a  truce,  and  they  killed  Glaum. 


SABINE   BARING-GOULD  307 

Hook  cut  off  Grettir's  head  and  rode  to  the  Biarg  home,  where 
he  flung  it  at  the  feet  of  Grettir's  mother. 

The  AUhing  decreed  that  as  Hook  had  cut  off  the  head  of 
a  man  who  was  already  dead,  and  as  he  had  brought  about 
that  death  by  the  help  of  witchcraft,  he  should  receive  nothing 
of  the  money  reward  and  should  be  outlawed  from  Iceland. 
So  he  went  to  Constantinople,  where  he  enlisted  in  the  Em- 
peror's guard.  Dromund,  Grettir's  half-brother,  secretly  fol- 
lowed him  and  enlisted  in  the  same  guard.  Dromund  did  not 
know  which  was  the  murderer  of  Grettir  till  one  day  Hook 
boasted  of  having  killed  a  great  outlaw  with  a  peculiar  sword 
he  had:  the  short-sword  which  Grettir  had  taken  from  Karr- 
the-Old. 

"And  his  name?"  asked  Dromund. 

"His  name  was  Grettir  the  Strong,"  Hook  replied.  There 
was  a  pause,  and  in  that  pause  the  sword  was  handed  to  Dro- 
mund to  look  at. 

"Then  is  Grettir  avenged!"  cried  Dromund,  and  whirled 
it  in  the  air.  So  great  was  the  stroke  he  dealt  that  it  smote 
through  Hook's  skull  to  his  teeth,  and  he  fell  without  a  word, 
dead. 


AMELIA  EDITH    BARR 

(England,   1831) 

A    BOW    OF    ORANGE    RIBBON:     A    ROMANCE    OF 
NEW    YORK    (1886) 

This  book  established  Mrs.  Barr's  popularity  and  has  remained  the  greatest 
favorite  among  her  many  novels.  It  was  the  second  book  she  wrote,  being 
preceded  by  Jan  Vedder's  Wife,  also  a  story  of  New  York  under  the  Dutch. 

'ATE  one  afternoon  of  May,  1765,  in  the  pictur- 
esque little  city  of  New  York,  a  group  of  grave- 
looking  men  were  separating  at  the  steps  of  the 
City  Hall — members  of  His  Majesty's  Council  for 
the  Province  of  New  York.  One  of  them  was 
Joris  Van  Heemskirk.  He  was  massively  built, 
and  richly  dressed  in  a  style  that  proclaimed 
him  a  Hollander.  He  was  proud  of  his  race  as 
any  English  duke  of  his  royal  line,  and  while  he 
associated  with  the  ruling  English  in  civic  and  commercial 
affairs,  he  scorned  those  of  his  Dutch  neighbors  who  mingled 
with  them  socially.  On  arriving  at  his  handsome  dwelling  in 
the  northwestern  outskirts  of  the  city,  with  its  great  garden 
sloping  down  to  the  river-side,  the  Councilor  sat  down  to  re- 
fresh himself  with  his  pipe. 

Madam  Lysbet  Van  Heemskirk,  his  wise  little  wife,  busy 
in  household  matters,  moved  steadily  about,  and,  in  her  trig 
Dutch  costume,  made  a  pleasant  picture  of  domesticity. 

Joanna,  the  plump  elder  daughter,  was  out;  Bram,  the 
broad-shouldered  son,  had  not  yet  come  home;  and  when  the 
good  man  asked  for  Katherine,  his  lovely  seventeen-year-old 
darling,  the  mother's  brow  clouded. 

"Katherine  troubles  me,"  she  said.  "She  is  quiet,  and 
thinks  much,  and  when  I  ask  of  what  she  is  thinking,  she 

308 


AMELIA   EDITH   BARR  309 

answers,  'Nothing,  mother.'  But  when  a  girl  says,  'Nothing,' 
there  is  something — perhaps  indeed  somebody — on  her  mind." 
But  soon  came  the  two  daughters,  who  had  been  visiting 
Madam  Semple,  their  next  neighbor;  and  with  them  Elder 
Semple,  a  rich  and  godly  Scotchman^  with  whose  family  the 
Van  Heemskirks  had  kept  up  a  friendship  through  four  genera- 
tions. The  Elder  stayed  to  supper;  and  after  that,  when  the 
girls  had  retired,  he  opened  his  mind,  formally  proposing  mar- 
riage between  his  son  Neil  and  Katherine.  This  was  received 
in  friendly  spirit,  it  being  agreed  that  at  the  proper  time  Neil 
would  be  acceptable;  but  as  yet,  said  the  mother,  Katherine 
was  too  young,  and  had  not  begun  to  think  of  such  things. 
The  Elder  reminded  them,  however,  that  Colonel  Gordon,  of 
an  English  regiment,  and  his  fine  English  wife,  had  been  living 
at  his  house,  and  that  among  their  visitors  was  Mistress  Gor- 
don's handsome  nephew.  Captain  Richard  Hyde;  adding  that, 
as  Katherine  had  been  there  often  to  learn  the  crewel- stitch 
from  Mrs.  Gordon,  both  he  and  his  son  Neil  had  noticed  that 
the  young  officer  had  shown  much  interest  in  her.  This 
startled  Joris  and  his  wife,  who  were  alarmed  by  the  danger — 
especially  from  one  of  the  hated  English  race.  They  decided 
that  Katherine  should  go  no  more  to  the  Semples',  and  the 
Elder  departed.  Even  so,  Madam  Van  Heemskirk  was  not 
altogether  happy.  Their  eldest  two  daughters  had  married 
substantial  Dutch  citizens  of  Albany,  and  Joanna  was  be- 
trothed to  a  successful  and  self-satisfied  sea-trader.  Captain 
Batavius  De  Vries;  but,  for  the  charming  Katherine,  Lysbet 
had  dreamed  of  some  higher  advancement.  Indeed,  that  very 
day  had  been  dangerously  fascinating  for  the  girl.  Mrs.  Gor- 
don greatly  fancied  her,  and  seeing  that  her  nephew  did  so  too, 
knowing  that  the  gay  Captain's  gambling  debts  were  pressing, 
and  thinking  that  the  wealthy  Councilor  would  handsomely 
portion  his  daughter,  she  skilfully  favored  his  suit.  She  had 
that  morning  flattered  the  maiden  with  tales  of  Richard's  ad- 
miration; and,  when  he  came  in  and  invited  Katherine  to  sail 
with  him,  she  laughed  away  the  girl's  doubts  of  propriety  and 
sent  them  off  together.  But  Captain  Hyde  had  no  idea  of 
going  on  the  river;  they  stopped  on  the  lower  steps  of  the  land- 
ing, and  there  he  enchanted  the  fair  girl  with  his  love-story, 


310  A  BOW   OF   ORANGE   RIBBON 

and  she  resigned  her  heart  to  him.  When  they  returned, 
Hyde  spoke  of  the  pleasure  of  their  excursion,  and  Madam 
Semple  and  Joanna  accepted  it;  but  Neil  Semple  suspected 
something,  and  scented  danger.  A  talk  with  his  father  led  to 
the  Elder's  evening  visit  to  the  Van  Heemskirks. 

Katherine  sadly  obeyed  her  father's  injunction  to  go  no  more 
to  Madam  Semple's,  but  decided  to  send  some  apology  to  Mrs. 
Gordon,  and  wrote  as  follows: 

"To  Mistress  Colonel  Gordon: 

"  Honored  Madam:  My  father  forbids  that  I  come  to  see  you.  He  thinks 
you  should  upon  my  mother  call.  That  you  will  judge  me  to  be  rude  and  un- 
grateful I  fear  very  much.  But  that  is  not  true.  I  am  unhappy,  indeed.  I 
think  all  the  day  of  you. 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"Katherine  Van  Heemskirk." 

Mrs.  Gordon  answered  this  by  visiting  the  Van  Heemskirks 
the  next  morning,  where  she  charmed  the  appreciative  Lysbet 
with  her  gracious  manners.  Before  leaving,  she  managed  to 
see  Katherine  alone,  and,  depicting  Richard's  distress  at  not 
seeing  her,  coaxed  her  to  send  him  a  love-token.  So  Katherine 
gave  her  a  little  bow  of  orange  ribbon  that  she  had  worn  on 
St.  Nicholas's  Day,  and  agreed  to  walk  in  the  garden  beside 
the  river  at  three  o'clock,  so  that  Richard  might  see  her  from 
his  boat.  She  was  there,  but  with  Joanna;  and,  while  the 
latter  stooped  to  pick  flowers,  a  boat  appeared,  and  an  officer 
arose  in  the  stern,  and  threw  back  his  cloak,  showing  a  bow 
of  orange  ribbon  upon  his  breast.  And  joy  throbbed  in  the 
maiden's  heart. 

Neil  Semple  was  a  promising  young  lawyer,  of  grave  deport- 
ment and  shrewd  mind.  Although  reared  with  Katherine  from 
her  childhood,  and  always  regarding  her  as  his  future  wife,  he 
never  had  spoken  of  love.  But  the  attentions  of  the  Gordons 
and  young  Hyde  had  aroused  his  jealousy,  which  now  was  firing 
his  complacent  affection  to  real  passion.  But,  even  since  the 
Elder's  talk,  nothing  had  been  said  to  Katherine  about  Neil; 
the  father  had  shrunk  from  so  positive  an  act,  while  the  mother 
had  no  enthusiasm  for  the  commonplace  match.  Thus  all 
circumstances  conspired  to  leave  Katherine  free  to  respond  to 
her  handsome  and  gallant  lover. 


AMELIA  EDITH   BARR  311 

A  few  days  later,  the  arrival  of  Captain  Batavius  De  Vries 
with  his  rich  cargo,  and  rare  gifts  for  Joanna,  occasioned  an 
evening  gathering  at  the  Van  Heemskirk  house  to  welcome  the 
future  son-in-law.  Neil,  with  his  dark  beauty,  made  a  fine 
foil  to  Katherine's  delicate  grace  when  they  danced  the  minuet; 
but  after  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Gordon  and  Hyde  the  young  officer 
engrossed  Katherine,  to  her  delight,  and  Neil  went  home,  gloom- 
ing. The  very  next  day  Hyde  went  manfully  to  see  Van  Heems- 
kirk in  his  great  warehouse.  At  the  mention  of  Katherine,  the 
Councilor  stood  up ;  his  kindly  face  grew  stern,  and  he  forbade 
the  Captain  even  to  speak  her  name.  He  scorned  Hyde's 
frank  story  of  his  own  family  and  his  possible  inheritance  of 
its  earldom,  told  him  that  he  regarded  neither  king  nor  kaiser 
superior  to  his  own  Dutch  ancestry,  and  bade  him  seek  a  wife 
among  his  own  women.  "My  daughter,"  he  added,  "is  to 
another  man  promised." 

"Look  you.  Councilor,"  said  Hyde,  "that  would  be  mon- 
strous. Your  daughter  loves  me,"  and  he  further  quietly  as- 
serted that  he  would  marry  the  girl  if  he  could  compass  it. 

"Not  one  guilder,"  cried  Joris,  "will  I  give  my  daughter 
if—" 

"To  the  devil  with  your  guilders!  Dirty  money  made  in 
dirty  traffic!"  shouted  Hyde;  and,  pale  with  rage,  he  went  out. 

The  proposal,  and  Hyde's  assertion  that  Katherine  loved 
him,  smote  Joris  with  a  shock.  He  saw  trouble  for  the  house 
of  his  friend  Semple,  and  sought  him  for  conference.  The 
Elder  heard  him  quietly,  and  told  him  that  it  was  mostly  his 
own  fault  for  not  being  more  decided  with  the  girl,  who,  young 
as  Van  Heemskirk  thought  her,  had  been  old  enough  to  fool 
one  of  the  councilors  of  the  colony.  So  Joris  returned  to  his 
house  and,  with  the  mother,  told  Katherine  of  the  arrange- 
ments for  her  marriage  with  Neil,  and  the  new  house  and  all — 
but  with  the  dictum  that  she  should  see  Hyde  no  more  until 
after  the  wedding.  He  reluctantly  consented,  on  the  mother's 
plea,  that  she  might  see  him  once  more,  to  tell  him  of  the  facts 
and  to  bid  him  farewell ;  and  Katherine  sped  away  to  the  river- 
side, where  Richard's  boat  was  soon  to  come. 

Meantime,  the  Elder  had  told  Neil  of  Hyde's  proposal  and 
seeming  success  with  the  girl,  and,  as  hate  flashed  up  in  the 


312  A  BOW   OF   ORANGE   RIBBON 

young  man's  face,  he  cautioned  him  against  fighting,  but  ad- 
vised him  to  be  more  loverUke  if  he  would  win  his  wife.  Neil 
was  no  coward,  but  a  duel  might  have  untoward  effects  upon  his 
career,  and  he  walked  about  the  city  debating  with  himself, 
when  a  sudden  determination  to  go  to  Katherine  took  him  down 
a  river-path.  As  he  descended  he  met  Hyde  coming  up  from 
his  interview  with  Katherine.  Looks  of  mutual  defiance  broke 
into  words: 

"At  your  service,  sir,"  cried  Neil. 

"Mr.  Semple,  at  your  service,"  replied  Hyde,  and  throwing 
back  his  coat  he  added,  "As  for  the  cause,  Mr.  Semple,  here  it 
is,"  showing  the  bow  of  orange  ribbon. 

"I  will  dye  it  crimson  in  your  blood,"  shouted  Neil. 

"In  the  meantime,  I  have  the  felicity  of  wearing  it,"  an- 
swered Hyde,  and,  with  an  offensively  deep  salute,  he  passed  on. 

Neil  pursued  his  way  to  the  house,  and  found  Katherine 
tearful  after  her  parting  with  Richard;  but,  intent  on  his  own 
ideas,  he  poured  out  vows  of  love  and  devotion.  Katherine 
met  him  kindly,  but  declared  that  she  should  never  marry ;  and, 
when  he  persisted,  turned  from  him  with  dignity.  He  then 
spoke  of  the  bow  of  orange  ribbon,  and  begged,  and  finally  de- 
manded, that  she  should  give  him  one  also.  When  at  last  she 
vehemently  denied  him,  he  retorted: 

"Well,  then,  I  will  cut  my  bow  from  Hyde's  breast,  though  I 
cut  his  heart  out  with  it,"  and  abruptly  left  her. 

The  seconds  of  the  young  men  arranged  the  meeting  for 
sunset  on  the  Kalehook  Hill.  Neil  made  his  will  and  settled 
his  affairs.  Hyde  did  what  he  could  to  arrange  his  debts,  and 
visited  a  venerable  Jew,  named  Cohen,  to  whom  he  owed  a 
hundred  guineas,  leaving  with  him  a  ring,  which  was  accepted 
in  settlement.  But  the  Jew's  daughter,  Miriam,  learning  from 
her  father  of  the  duel,  sent  word  to  Van  Heemskirk,  through 
his  son  Bram,  who  had  answered  her  summons  for  his  father, 
and  who  speedily  told  both  the  Councilor  and  the  Elder. 

The  encounter  was  bitter.  Hyde  had  no  special  desire  to 
fight,  but,  knowing  that  Semple  had  just  cause  of  anger,  was 
willing  enough.  Some  bloody  thrusts  from  Semple,  however, 
roused  him,  while  the  sight  of  the  bow  of  ribbon  on  Hyde's 
breast  filled   Neil   with  fury.     At   last,   bleeding   from   many 


AMELIA  EDITH  BARR  313 

wounds,  both  lost  their  swords  in  the  same  entanglement,  and 
before  they  could  recover  Van  Heemskirk  and  Elder  Semple 
rushed  between  them,  while  they  fell  fainting  to  the  ground. 
One  of  Semple's  friends  tried  to  take  the  blood-stained  love- 
knot  for  him,  but  Van  Heemskirk  thrust  him  away. 

"To  touch  it  would  be  the  vilest  theft,"  he  cried.  "His 
own  it  is.     With  his  life  he  has  bought  it." 

News  of  the  duel  spread  rapidly,  and,  strangely  enough, 
censure  of  the  innocent  girl  seemed  to  be  the  verdict  of  the 
Dutch  community,  so  that  even  after  it  was  decided  that  both 
the  grievously  wounded  men  would  live,  Katherine  felt  as  if 
God,  fate,  and  the  world  had  united  against  her.  In  three 
months  Neil  was  about  again,  his  sword-arm  in  a  sling,  but  he 
was  able  to  resume  his  duties.  He  was,  however,  further  than 
ever  from  Katherine,  who  treated  him  kindly,  but  ignored  or 
repelled  every  attempt  at  sentiment.  Her  brother  Bram  went 
often  to  old  Cohen,  who  had  saved  Hyde's  life  when  the  English 
surgeons  said  he  must  die,  and  from  the  Jew,  or  from  the 
lovely  Miriam,  brought  her  news  of  Richard's  progress.  Bram 
soon  saw  Hfe  a  heavenly  thing  in  Miriam's  eyes;  but  their 
dream  was  short-lived,  for  the  Jew  married  his  daughter  to 
one  of  their  own  race. 

One  day  Katherine  ventured  out  to  buy  some  things  for  her 
mother,  and,  passing  along  Pearl  Street,  heard  her  name  called. 
A  door  flew  open,  and  IMrs.  Gordon  rushed  down  the  steps, 
embraced  her,  and  constrained  her  to  enter.  Once  in,  despite 
the  parental  injunction,  Mrs.  Gordon  persuaded  Katherine  to 
drive  with  her  to  see  Dick  at  The  King's  Arms.  They  found 
him,  still  very  weak,  but  delighted  to  receive  them.  When  it 
was  time  to  go,  Hyde  begged  Katherine  to  come  again,  saying: 

"Upon  my  honor,  I  promise  to  ask  Katherine  Van  Heems- 
kirk only  this  once." 

She  promised,  for  two  days  from  that  time,  on  the  appointed 
day,  Katherine  went  again  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  who  had  just  re- 
ceived some  dainty  gowns  from  Paris,  and  persuaded  her  to 
put  on  one,  an  exquisite  light-blue  satin,  sprigged  with  silver, 
and  a  dark-blue  manteau  trimmed  with  fur — "just  to  please 
Dick."  They  found  a  soldierly  man  in  full  uniform  sitting 
beside  the  couch  of  the  invalid,  who  himself  was  attired  in  a 


314  A  BOW   OF   ORANGE   RIBBON 

chamber-gown  of  maroon  satin,  with  deep  ruffles  at  wrists  and 
bosom. 

"Ah,  if  you  were  only  my  wife,  Katherine!"  cried  Richard. 

"Only  your  wife  will  I  be,"  responded  the  blushing  girl. 

''Now,  Katherine?  This  minute,  darling?  I  promised  not 
to  ask  Katherine  Van  Heemskirk  here  again,  but  Katherine 
Hyde  would  have  a  right  to  come." 

And,  with  trembling  hesitation,  in  great  pity  for  the  man 
she  loved,  Katherine  consented.  The  Governor's  chaplain 
was  in  attendance.  Colonel  Gordon,  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  Captain 
Earle  were  witnesses,  and  the  ceremony  was  performed,  Kath- 
erine kneeling  by  Richard's  side. 

Neil  still  persisted  in  coming  to  see  Katherine,  despite  her 
discouraging  attitude.  The  secret  marriage  had  been  con- 
tracted in  October,  and  since  then  she  had  not  seen  Richard, 
although  she  had  exchanged  letters  with  him;  and  now  St. 
Nicholas's  Day  was  at  hand,  appointed  for  the  wedding  of  Ba- 
tavius  and  Joanna.  It  was  a  splendid  affair,  and  when  the 
afternoon  dinner  had  given  place  to  the  evening's  entertain- 
ment, .and  dancing  began,  Neil  solicited  Katherine.  But  she 
refused,  saying  she  could  not  take  his  blood-stained  hand,  and 
left  him,  helpless  and  distraught.  After  this  he  came  no  more 
to  see  her,  though  there  was  no  break  between  the  families. 

Spring  came,  and  one  fine  May  morning  Madam  Semple 
excitedly  entered  the  Van  Heemskirk  dwelling  with  the  startling 
news  that  the  British  ship  Dauntless  had  sailed  for  the  West 
Indies  with  Captain  Earle  and  his  contingent,  "and  who  wi' 
him,  guess  you,  but  Captain  Hyde!"  Katherine  was  heart- 
struck.  Her  father  and  Bram  confirmed  the  news,  and  they 
felt  tender  pity  for  the  little  maid.  But,  when  she  was  sitting 
with  her  sympathetic  mother  at  household  work  that  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Gordon  rustled  in,  took  her  for  a  drive,  and  told  her  that, 
while  Richard  had  gone,  he  was  coming  back  at  eight  o'clock 
that  evening  to  see  her,  down  by  the  garden  river-steps.  Whether 
Lysbet  suspected  Katherine's  desire  to  get  out  that  evening  or 
not,  was  uncertain;  but,  after  supper,  when  the  father  and 
Bram  had  gone  to  a  meeting,  she  sent  Katherine  to  Joanna's 
on  an  errand.  Katherine  blushed  scarlet,  and  lingered  about 
till  her  mother  tied  on  her  hood  and  bade  her  go.     At  the  river- 


AMELIA  EDITH   BARR  315 

steps,  a  boat  soon  shot  out  of  the  shadows  to  her  feet,  and 
Richard  leaped  ashore.  She  flew  to  his  arms,  and  then,  holding 
her  fast,  Richard  told  her  he  had  come  to  take  her,  so  that  they 
should  never  be  separated  more.  Her  mental  struggle  was 
severe,  but  it  had  to  be  short,  for  Richard  could  wait  but  five 
minutes,  and,  recalling  her  agony  when  she  thought  he  had 
gone  without  her,  Katherine  yielded;  they  entered  the  boat, 
and  were  gone  to  join  the  Dauntless  in  the  lower  bay. 

At  home,  they  thought  Katherine  had  stayed  with  Joanna 
overnight;  but  in  the  morning  came  a  note  to  Joris  at  his 
store,  brought  by  a  fisherman : 

"  My  Father  and  Mother  :  I  have  gone  with  my  husband.  I  married 
Richard  when  he  was  ill,  and  to-night  he  came  for  me.  When  I  left  home  I 
knew  not  I  was  to  go.  Only  five  minutes  I  had.  In  God's  name,  this  is  the 
truth.  Always,  at  the  end  of  the  world,  I  shall  love  you.  Forgive  me,  forgive 
me,  myn  fader,  myn  moeder.  Your  child, 

"  Katherine  Hyde." 

Joris  hastened  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  who  told  him  all  about  the 
wedding;  but  he  was  crushed.  At  home,  the  mother  kissed 
the  letter  and  said,  "It  was  a  great  strait,  Joris";  and  then 
heartened  up  her  man  to  uphold  his  daughter's  honor  and 
proclaim  that  she  had  gone  with  her  husband.  Of  course, 
Batavius  and  Joanna,  the  neighbors,  the  town  at  large,  took 
the  worst  possible  view;  but  the  doubters  were  silenced  by  the 
next  issue  of  the  New  York  Gazette,  containing  an  advertise- 
ment of  the  marriage:  "October  19,  1765,  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Somers,  Chaplain  to  his  Excellency  the  Governor,  Richard 
Drake  Hyde,  of  Hyde  Manor,  Norfolk,  son  of  the  late  Richard 
Drake  Hyde  and  brother  of  William  Drake  Hyde,  Earl  of 
Dorset  and  Hyde,  to  Katherine  Van  Heemskirk,  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Joris  and  Lysbet  Van  Heemskirk,  of  the  city  and 
province  of  New  York,"  with  the  names  of  the  aristocratic 
witnesses  in  full. 

And  now  it  was  May  again — a  fair  English  May.  In  Hyde 
Manor  House,  Richard,  in  full  uniform,  his  twelve  months' 
leave  expired,  was  hastily  breakfasting  with  his  wife  before  re- 
turning to  duty.  But  neither  was  sorrowful,  for  he  had  been 
exchanged  into  a  court  regiment  and  was  going  only  to  London. 
Hyde  Manor  House  was  not  beautiful,  but  it  was  old  and  inter- 


3i6  A  BOW   OF   ORANGE   RIBBON 

esting,  and  Katherine,  with  Dutch  orderhness  and  thrift,  had 
gradually  cleansed  and  adorned  the  halls  and  rooms,  and  brought 
to  bloom  the  neglected  garden,  while  Richard,  spurred  by  this, 
had  cared  well  for  his  stables,  his  fields,  and  his  woods ;  and  the 
birth  of  a  son  increased  his  sense  of  responsibility.  Katherine 
had  kept  up  a  loving  correspondence  with  her  mother,  but 
when  the  little  son  came — whom  Richard  had  cordially  con- 
sented to  name  George,  the  English  form  of  Joris — she  had 
written  full-heartedly  to  her  father.  He  was  immensely  pleased, 
and  sent  Katherine  as  her  portion  five  thousand  pounds,  and 
to  the  little  Joris  the  famous  old  silver  Middleburg  cup,  their 
choicest  family  heirloom.  Richard,  gratified  that  the  money 
had  been  entrusted  to  his  honor,  not  settled  on  his  wife,  ar- 
ranged to  use  only  the  interest.  He  knew,  too,  that  rumor 
would  swell  the  five  thousand  pounds  to  fifty  thousand — a 
satisfactory  answer  to  the  jibes  of  his  fashionable  friends  in 
London. 

Richard's  first  visit  in  town  was  to  his  maternal  grand- 
mother, the  Dowager  Lady  Capel — a  wealthy,  ill-tempered  old 
woman,  who,  nevertheless,  liked  her  gay  grandson  and  had 
twice  paid  his  gambling  debts.  She  rallied  him  about  his  Dutch 
wife,  commended  her  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  fortune,  laughed 
at  his  constancy  for  a  whole  year,  and  claimed  his  social 
service  for  herself  and  his  cousin.  Lady  Arabella  Suffolk — a 
fashionable  coquette  with  an  indulgent  old  husband.  In  this 
lady's  fascinations  she  foresaw  mischief  and  amusement. 

In  the  next  six  months  Lady  Capel  was  satisfied.  Society 
idolized  Captain  Hyde,  and  he,  while  flirting  with  a  dozen  other 
women,  was  pretty  constantly  at  Lady  Arabella's  side.  His 
marriage  was  a  topic  of  doubt  and  dispute;  but  no  one  dared 
ask  him  about  it.  He  loved  his  wife  tenderly,  but  was  sus- 
ceptible to  the  beauty  and  attractiveness  of  other  women,  and 
spent  his  days  and  nights  in  a  perpetual  round  of  social  folly. 
His  income  was  small,  and  his  debts  began  to  press.  He  must 
borrow.  One  Sunday  afternoon  a  sweet  letter  from  Katherine 
touched  his  better  nature,  and  he  determined  to  go  to  her. 
Obtaining  a  two  weeks'  leave  of  absence,  he  went  to  Lady 
Capel's  brilliant  mansion,  as  Sunday  evening  was  her  great 
card-night,  hoping  to  find  her  in  good  humor.     But  she  had 


AMELIA  EDITH   BARR  317 

been  losing,  and  it  was  only  after  much  scolding  that  she  gave 
her  grandson  the  hundred  guineas  he  sought.  Next  morning 
he  mounted  his  horse  and  made  his  way  to  Norfolk.  Here  he 
spent  two  happy  weeks  with  his  wife  and  son,  and  then  was  off 
to  London  once  more. 

It  was  May  again,  but  in  1774.  The  years  had  passed 
without  much  variation  in  the  lives  of  Hyde  and  his  wife;  but 
the  troubles  between  England  and  the  Colonies  were  culmi- 
nating, and  party  feeling  ran  high,  even  in  the  army,  for  many 
officers — Hyde  among  them — angrily  opposed  the  policy  of 
the  Government.  At  Hyde's  club  one  evening  an  altercation 
arose,  in  which  he  took  part  so  vigorously  that  a  certain  Lord 
Paget  called  him  a  traitor,  and,  being  himself  a  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  Lady  Suffolk,  now  a  widow,  proceeded  further  to 
question  Hyde  sarcastically  about  his  American  wife.  Hyde 
blazed  with  rage,  when  a  messenger  summoned  him  to  his 
grandmother,  who  had  been  death-stricken  while  at  whist. 
She  told  him  she  had  left  him  eight  thousand  pounds,  and, 
with  a  cynical  smile  on  her  old  face,  passed  away. 

On  the  same  afternoon  a  London  pedler  came  to  Hyde 
Manor.  Ladies  in  the  country  purchased  most  of  their  toilet 
accessories  from  these  packmen,  and  Katherine  went  to  in- 
spect his  wares.  She  had  laid  out  and  paid  for  several  things, 
when  the  pedler  showed  a  beautiful  scarf  which  he  had  bought, 
he  said,  for  Lady  Suffolk,  "but  Lord  Suffolk  died  sudden,  and 
my  lady  had  to  wear  black";  and  then  he  continued,  detailing 
the  London  gossip  about  Lady  Arabella  and  her  lover,  a  fine 
cavalry  officer,  adding,  "Though  there's  them  that  do  say  the 
Captain  has  a  comely  wife  hid  up  in  the  country."  Katherine 
turned  on  him  with  quiet,  concentrated  anger.  She  charged 
him  with  being  a  bad  man,  sent  by  a  bad  woman  to  lie  about 
her  husband.  She  returned  his  goods,  demanded  her  money, 
and  had  him  driven  from  the  house  and  grounds. 

Katherine  had  at  one  time  been  pained  by  frequent  talk  of 
Richard's  about  Lady  Arabella,  but  he  had  laughed  away  her 
anxieties,  and  she  had  taken  pride  in  putting  his  word  above 
all  suspicion.  Yet  this  London  gossip  was  frightful:  her 
husband   the   reputed   lover  of  another  woman,  her  own  ex- 


3i8  A  BOW   OF   ORANGE  RIBBON 

istence  doubted  or  denied;  and  doubts  and  fears  assailed  her. 
But  she  remembered  Richard's  tenderness  for  her  and  Uttle 
Joris,  and  calmed  herself,  even  though  his  usual  letter  came 
not  for  several  days.  When  it  came,  it  explained  his  silence 
by  Lady  Capel's  death  and  funeral,  and  announced  his  speedy 
home-coming.  Katherine  spent  the  next  few  days  in  joyful 
preparations,  until  a  strange  officer  brought  her  a  letter,  which 
said: 

"  It  is  midnight,  beloved  Katherine,  and  in  six  hours  I  may  be  dead.  Lord 
Paget  spoke  to  me  of  my  cousin  in  such  terms  as  left  but  one  way  out  of  the 
affront.  I  pray  you,  if  you  can,  to  pardon  me.  The  world  will  condemn  me; 
my  own  actions  will  condemn  me;  and  yet,  I  vow  that  you,  and  you  only,  have 
ever  had  my  love.  Kate,  my  Kate,  forgive  me.  If  this  comes  to  you  by  strange 
hands,  I  shall  be  dead  or  dying.  My  will  and  papers  of  importance  are  in  the 
drawer  marked  "B"  in  my  escritoire.  Kiss  my  son  for  me,  and  take  my  last 
hope  and  thought." 

Oh,  the  shame!  Oh,  the  sorrow!  Was  the  pedler's  talk 
true,  then?  The  officer  bringing  the  note  would  escort  her 
to  Richard,  or  take  to  him  his  will  for  a  codicil  concerning 
Lady  Capel's  legacy.  She  went  to  his  writing-desk,  and  in 
drawer  "B"  found  divers  personal  treasures  of  Richard's — 
some  that  touched  her  nearly.  Among  them  was  a  small 
parcel,  and  on  the  outside  these  lines  in  Richard's  hand: 

"  O,  my  love,  my  love!       This  thy  gift  I  hold 
More  than  fame  or  treasure,  more  than  life  or  gold." 

At  last,  the  test!  If  it  contained  aught  of  Lady  Suffolk, 
she  would  send  him  his  will  and  leave  him  to  himself.  Within 
was  another  wrapper — the  first  letter  she  had  signed  "Katherine 
Hyde";  and,  folded  within  that,  was  her  own  love- token,  the 
blood-stained  bow  of  orange  ribbon.  She  kissed  it  with  tri- 
umphant love,  and  cried,  "Oh,  Richard,  my  lover,  my  hus- 
band!   Now  will  I  hasten  to  thee!" 

In  August,  while  Richard  was  convalescing  at  home,  one 
day  his  tall,  handsome  elder  brother.  Earl  William,  for  years  a 
world-wanderer,  arrived.  He  was  enthusiastic  over  the  beau- 
tiful condition  of  Hyde  Manor,  and  when  Richard  said  it  was 
his  wife's  work,  the  Earl  told  him  that  he  himself  was  married, 
and  had  two  sons.     The  disinherited  Richard  responded  cor- 


AMELIA   EDITH   BARR  319 

dially,  when  the  Earl  said:  "Why  not  go  to  America?  I  will 
take  Hyde  Manor  at  its  highest  price,  and  add  fifty  thousand 
pounds  indemnity  for  your  loss  of  the  succession.  You  may  buy 
land  enough  for  a  duchy  over  there.  If  there  is  war,  you  will 
have  your  chance  with  the  Colonists  you  approve  of,  and  if 
they  win,  you  will  be  a  person  of  consideration  and  found  a  new 
line  of  the  old  family." 

After  consulting  Katherine,  Richard  accepted  his  brother's 
offer,  and  went  with  his  wife  and  son  and  fortune  to  throw  in 
his  lot  with  the  Americans.  With  Van  Heemskirk  and  Bram 
he  joined  the  army,  his  tasseled  sword-knot  as  he  rode  off  being 
replaced  by  a  brown  and  faded  bow  of  orange  ribbon. 

A  hundred  years  later,  the  family  residing  in  a  great  stone 
mansion  on  the  Hudson  told  much  of  the  builder  of  the  house, 
a  noted  cavalry  officer  of  the  Revolution,  and  his  beautiful 
wife,  whose  portraits  adorned  the  main  hall.  And  they  proudly 
showed  "the  household  talisman,"  carefully  kept  in  a  box  of 
carved  sandalwood — a  faded  bit  of  satin  that  had  been  a  love- 
token  :  a  St.  Nicholas  bow  of  orange  ribbon. 


JAMES    MATTHEW   BARRIE 

(Scotland,  i860) 
A   WINDOW    IN    THRUMS    (1889) 

Much  of  this  little  story  is  acknowledged  by  the  author  to  be  autobiographical. 
Jess  is  drawn  from  Mr.  Barrie's  own  mother,  who  was  afterward  more  carefully 
pictured  in  his  novel  entitled  Margaret  Ogilvy;  while  Leeby  is  a  portrait  of  his 
sister.  The  author's  own  character  has. much  in  common  with  Jamie;  and  the 
little  village  of  Thrums  Jinds  its  original  in  Kirriemuir,  where  Mr.  Barrie  was 
born  and  reared. 

[T  the  top  of  the  brae  still  stands  a  one-story  house 
whose  whitewashed  walls  look  yellow  when 
snow  comes.  Into  this  humble  abode  I  would 
take  anyone  who  cares  to  accompany  me.  On 
the  left  of  the  doorway  is  the  "room."  The 
passageway  is  narrow.  There  is  a  square  hole 
between  the  rafters,  and  a  ladder  leading  up  to 
it.  You  may  climb  and  look  into  the  attic,  as 
Jess  liked  to  hear  me  call  my  tiny  garret  room. 
I  have  kept  the  kitchen  for  the  last,  and  the  window  where  Jess 
sat  in  her  chair,  and  looked  down  the  brae.  For  more  than 
twenty  years  she  had  not  been  able  to  go  so  far  as  the  door. 
With  her  husband,  Hendry,  or  their  only  daughter,  Leeby,  to 
lean  upon,  and  her  hand  clutching  her  staff,  she  took  twice  a 
day,  when  she  was  strong,  the  journey  between  her  bed  and  the 
window  where  stood  her  chair.  She  seldom  complained.  All 
the  sewing  of  the  house  was  done  by  her,  and  she  often  pre- 
pared her  baking  on  a  table  pushed  close  to  the  window. 

I  stayed  only  once  during  the  whole  of  my  holidays  at  the 
house  on  the  brae,  but  I  knew  its  inmates  for  many  years,  in- 
cluding Jamie,  the  son,  who  was  a  barber  in  London. 

Jess's  rarest  possession  was  a  christening  robe,  that  even 
people  at  a  distance  came  to  borrow. 

320 


JAMES   MATTHEW   BARRIE  321 

From  Jess's  window  a  great  deal  could  be  seen  that  went  on 
in  Thrums,  and  often  she  sent  Leeby  up  into  the  attic  to  see 
whether  smoke  was  coming  out  of  the  chimney  of  the  spare 
bedroom  at  the  manse,  in  order  to  learn  whether  a  guest  was 
expected.  When  anyone  passed  the  window,  Jess  and  Leeby 
took  intense  interest  in  them,  and  discussed  the  probability  of 
their  going  here  or  there  for  this  or  that  purpose.  When  Law- 
yer Ogilvy's  servant  passed  with  two  jugs  in  her  hand,  Leeby 
was  sure  that  she  was  going  for  cream  as  well  as  for  milk,  and 
that  there  was  company  at  the  lawyer's  house. 

One  night  Jess  was  taken  with  diphtheria,  and  she  thought 
she  was  going  to  die.  Leeby  ran  for  the  doctor,  but  he  was 
away  in  the  hills  and  did  not  come  till  dawn. 

''This  is  a  fearsome  nicht,"  Hendry  said.  He  sat  down  by 
the  kitchen  fire  with  his  Bible  on  his  knees.     But  Jess  recovered. 

Hendry  often  crossed  over  to  the  farm  of  T'nowhead  and 
sat  on  the  fence  of  the  pigsty.  Here  a  gathering  that  was 
almost  a  club  held  informal  meetings.  Tammas  Haggart  took 
the  lead  at  these  meetings,  and  he  had  a  great  reputation  as  a 
humorist. 

"A  humorist  doesna  tell  whaur  the  humor  comes  in,"  he 
said.  "A  humorist  would  often  no  ken  'at  he  was  ane,  if  it 
wasna  by  the  wy  he  maks  other  fowk  lauch.  A  body  canna 
be  expeckit  baith  to  mak  the  joke  an'  to  see't.  Na,  that  would 
be  doin'  twa  fowks'  wark." 

Twenty  years  had  passed  since  Jess  lost  her  boy  Joey.  He 
was  run  over  and  killed,  and  that  was  the  tragedy  of  Jess's  life. 
On  the  Sabbath-day  Jess  could  not  go  to  church,  and  it  was  then, 
I  think,  that  she  was  with  Joey  most.  He  had  meant  to  be  a 
minister  when  he  grew  up,  and  told  his  mother  his  first  sermon 
should  be  from  the  text,  "Thou  God  seest  me." 

Jess's  staff  was  old  and  black,  and  very  short ;  nearly  a  foot 
having  been  cut  from  the  original,  of  which  to  make  a  porridge 
"  thieval,"  or  stick  with  which  to  stir  porridge.  Joey  had  once 
hidden  it  when  Jess  was  very  ill,  after  he  had  heard  her  say 
that  she  was  going  very  far  away.  He  knew  she  could  not 
v/alk  without  it,  and  thought  that  if  he  hid  it  she  could  not  go 
away. 

When  I  was  with  Hendry  beaded  cloaks  were  the  fashion,  and 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 21 


322  A  WINDOW  IN  THRUMS 

Jess  sighed  as  she  looked  at  them.  They  were  known  in  Thrums 
as  "  the  Eleven  and  a  Bits."  Her  only  opportunity  to  handle 
garments  was  when  she  had  friends  to  tea.  Hendry  was  not 
quick  at  reading  faces,  but  he  saw  that  Jess  wanted  a  cloak. 
He  told  her  she  could  never  wear  it,  and  it  would  have  to  be 
kept  in  a  drawer.  She  said  she  could  take  it  out  and  look  at 
it,  and  she  would  know  it  was  there.  And  then  he  told  her 
that  no  one  else  would  know  it. 

"Would  they  no!"  answered  Jess.  "It  would  be  a'  through 
the  town  afore  nicht." 

Hendry  finally  saved  up  money  and  bought  her  the  cloth  for 
a  cloak,  and  gave  her  money  for  the  beads  and  buttons. 

Hendry,  Leeby,  and  I  were  invited  to  drink  tea  at  the  manse 
with  the  minister  and  his  bride,  a  very  grand  lady  from  Edin- 
burgh. Leeby  shaved  her  father  and  dressed  him,  and  the 
family  agreed  that  he  looked  unusually  "perjink."  The  minis- 
ter's wife  said  afterward  that  Leeby  seemed  very  stupid  and 
unobserving.  But  I  heard  Leeby  describe  to  Jess  everything 
in  the  parlor  and  in  the  bedroom  where  she  went  to  take  off 
her  hat. 

Jamie  sent  a  registered  letter  containing  money  to  his  mother 
every  month,  and  Jess  was  always  greatly  excited  when  the  day 
came  for  it  to  arrive.  There  was  much  talk  about  it  between 
her  and  Leeby,  and  Jess  was  up  earlier  than  usual  looking  for 
the  postman. 

Jamie  came  once  a  year  from  London  to  visit  his  parents. 
On  the  previous  year  he  had  listened  at  the  window  for  his 
mother's  voice,  and  heard  her  say  to  Leeby  that  she  was  sure 
the  teapot  was  running  out.  He  then  imitated  an  old  man  who 
went  about  selling  firewood,  and  pushed  open  doors,  crying : 

"Ony  rozetty  roots?"  and  Leeby,  going  to  shut  the  door, 
was  surprised  to  see  Jamie. 

This  time,  as  usual,  Jess  was  very  much  excited,  and  Leeby 
was  up  at  two  in  the  morning,  and  eight  hours  before  Jamie 
could  possibly  arrive  Jess  had  a  nightshirt  warming  for  him. 

Hendry,  Leeby,  and  I  walked  out  to  meet  Jamie,  and  when 
we  saw  him  he  and  Leeby  made  signs  that  they  recognized  each 
other  as  brother  and  sister,  but  I  was  the  only  one  with  whom 
he  shook  hands.     He  even  inquired  for  his  mother  in  a  tone 


JAMES   MATTHEW  BARRIE  323 

that  was  meant  to  deceive  me  into  thinking  he  did  not  care  how 
she  was.  He  pretended  to  be  calm,  but  I  saw  him  take  Leeby's 
hand  afterward;  and  when  we  came  in  sight  of  the  house  he 
suddenly  exclaimed: 

"My  mother!" 

There  was  only  one  other  memorable  event  of  that  day. 
Jamie  took  from  his  pocket  a  purse,  and  from  the  purse  he  took 
a  neatly  folded  piece  of  paper,  crumpled  it  into  a  ball,  and  flung 
it  into  Jess's  lap.     Leeby  was  in  the  secret. 

"What  is't?"  asked  Hendry. 

"It's  juist  a  bit  paper  Jamie  flung  at  me,"  said  Jess,  and 
then  she  unfolded  it. 

"It's  a  five-pound  note!"  cried  Hendry. 

Leeby  loved  her  brother  Jamie  dearly,  and  as  a  boy  he  was 
ashamed  of  it,  for  the  boys  teased  him  about  it.  He  used  to  beg 
her  not  to  show  her  affection  for  him  before  others. 

"You're  aye  lookin'  at  me  sae  fondlike  'at  I  dinna  ken  what 
wy  to  turn.  Am  no  tellin'  ye  no  to  care  for  me,  but  juist  to 
keep  it  mair  to  yersel.  Naebody  would  ken  frae  me  'at  am 
fond  o'  ye." 

As  a  boy,  Jamie  refused  to  go  to  kirk  one  Sabbath-day,  and 
went  off  with  some  Tilliedrum  lads  in  a  cart.  He  returned  at 
dark,  defiant  and  miserable.  Jess  was  terrified,  Hendry  prayed 
for  him,  and  Leeby  cried.  After  midnight  Jamie  rose  and 
crept  to  Leeby's  bedside,  where  she  was  shaking  in  agony. 
She  slipped  from  her  bed  and  both  fell  on  their  knees  and 
prayed. 

Jess  liked  to  hear  tales  of  sweethearting  when  Jamie  was 
not  the  lad.  But  she  had  noticed  him  putting  his  hand  in  his 
pouch  two  or  three  times,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  something 
was  safe,  so  she  got  up  early  in  the  morning  and  got  hold  of 
his  jacket  and  found  a  woman's  glove  in  a  bit  of  paper.  She 
took  it  and  hid  it,  and  Jamie  looked  all  over  the  house  for  it 
without  saying  a  word.  I  never  knew  how  Jamie  came  by  the 
glove,  nor  whether  it  had  originally  belonged  to  her  who  made 
him  forget  the  window  at  the  top  of  the  brae.  But  he  found  it 
after  a  time,  and  Jess  got  it  again  and  hid  it.  She  kept  Jamie 
home  from  church  on  the  Sabbath  because  he  had  a  cold,  and 
gave  him  the  glove,  and  told  him  she  could  not  bear  to  think 


324  A  WINDOW  IN  THRUMS 

of  his  carrying  that  about  so  careful.  And  he  laid  it  on  the  fire, 
so  Leeby  told  me. 

On  the  last  night  of  Jamie's  stay,  Jess  packed  his  box,  tying 
his  socks  together  with  string.  Hendry  read  his  favorite  chap- 
ter in  the  Bible,  the  fourteenth  of  John's  Gospel,  and  then  he 
prayed. 

Leeby  died  at  the  end  of  the  year  I  have  been  speaking  of, 
and  as  I  was  snowed  up  in  the  schoolhouse  at  the  time,  I  heard 
the  news  from  Gavin  Birse.  She  ran  out  in  a  sudden  rain  to 
bring  in  her  washing,  and  took  a  terrible  cold.  She  did  not 
blame  Jamie  for  not  coming  to  her.  He  never  got  Hendry's 
letter  with  the  news,  and  we  knew  that  he  was  already  in  the 
hands  of  the  woman  who  played  the  devil  with  his  life.  Before 
the  spring  came  he  had  been  lost  to  Jess.  But  Hendry  said 
the  Lord  had  given  his  house  "so  muckle  that  to  pray  for  mair 
looks  like  not  being  thankful  for  what  we  have."  And  he  prayed 
that  Jess  might  go  before  him.  But  his  prayer  was  not  granted. 
He  took  a  fever,  and  one  night  he  wandered  from  the  house  to 
Elshioner's  shop  and  worked  at  his  loom,  and  there  they  found 
him  dead.  So  it  came  about  that  for  the  last  few  months  of  her 
pilgrimage  Jess  was  left  alone. 

Tammas  Haggart  was  the  first  to  come  forward  with  offer 
of  help.  He  filled  Jess's  pitcher  and  pan  at  the  well  every 
morning  after  filling  his  own,  waiting  his  turn  in  the  line  of  peo- 
ple who  were  sometimes  at  the  well  as  early  as  three  o'clock. 
Others  helped,  too.  Jess  said  she  would  bake  if  anyone  would 
buy,  and  many  kindly  folk  came  to  her  door  for  scones. 

Jamie  did  not  come  to  see  his  mother.  We  did  not  know 
of  the  London  woman  then,  and  Jess  never  knew  of  her.  But 
Jess  always  had  an  eye  on  the  brae,  even  when  she  was  baking, 
Tibbie  told  me.  Toward  the  end  Jess  felt  sure  that  Jamie 
was  dead. 

The  minister  was  with  her  when  she  died,  and  she  asked 
him  to  read  the  sixteenth  chapter  of  Genesis.  When  he  read 
"Thou  God  seest  me,"  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  said: 

"  Joey's  text,  Joey's  text!  Oh,  but  I  grudged  ye  sair,  Joey!" 
And  so  she  died. 

Some  time  after  this  Jamie  came  back  and  went  to  the 


JAMES   MATTHEW   BARRIE  325 

house,  but  it  was  occupied  by  strange  people.  He  asked  about 
his  family  and  was  told  that  they  were  dead.  He  looked  like 
a  broken-hearted  man.  He  asked  about  the  furniture  and  his 
mother's  staff. 

"I've  heard  tell,"  the  woman  of  the  house  told  him,  "'at 
the  dominie  up  i'  Glen  Quharity  took  awa'  the  staff." 

He  spent  that  night  on  his  mother's  grave,  and  the  next  day 
came  to  the  schoolhouse. 

"I  came  oot,"  he  said,  "  to  see  if  ye  would  gie  me  her  staff — 
no  'at  I  deserve  it." 

I  brought  out  the  staff  and  gave  it  to  him.  That  evening 
he  went  up  to  the  old  house  again  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
stay  alone  in  the  kitchen  for  a  little  while.  Then  he  went  away, 
and  was  never  again  seen  in  Thrums. 


THE    LITTLE    MINISTER    (1891) 

This  romance  first  appeared  serially  in  Good  Words  in  1891,  and  was  issued 
the  same  year  in  book  form.  It  was  dramatized  by  its  author  in  1897,  and  was 
received  with  great  favor  both  in  England  and  the  United  States.  The  scene 
of  the  tale  is  the  market-town  of  Kirriemuir,  Forfarshire,  Scotland,  about  sixty 
miles  north  of  Edinburgh,  and  designated  as  Thrums  in  the  novel,  much  attention 
being  paid  to  local  coloring.  The  major  part  of  the  action  of  the  novel  covers 
a  period  of  about  ten  months,  but  in  the  drama  it  is  condensed  within  less  than  a 
fortnight. 


^T  twenty-one,  Gavin  Dishart  was  settled  as  min- 
ister of  the  Auld  Licht  parish  in  Thrums,  a  con- 
gregation composed  mainly  of  weavers  and  their 
families.  His  mother,  Margaret  Dishart,  was 
the  widow  of  Adam  Dishart,  a  fisherman  of 
Harire,  on  the  east  coast,  and  at  his  death,  when 
her  son  was  but  four  years  old,  she  removed  to 
Glasgow,  where  the  two  remained  until  Gavin 
got  his  call  to  Thrums. 
When  Margaret  was  a  young  girl  she  was  beloved  by  Gavin 
Ogilvy,  later  the  dominie,  or  schoolmaster,  of  Glen  Quharity, 
the  supposed  narrator  of  the  story.  A  shy,  timid  man,  he  was 
soon  distanced  in  his  courtship  by  Dishart,  for  he  says:  "I  went 
back  to  Aberdeen  to  write  a  poem  about  her,  and  while  I  was 
at  it  Adam  married  her." 

Three  months  after  the  wedding  Adam  disappeared,  most 
people  supposing  he  had  fallen  over  the  cliff  into  the  sea,  and 
after  two  years  Margaret  married  Ogilvy,  who  kept  the  school 
at  Harvie.  Nearly  six  years  had  elapsed  when  Adam  came 
back,  claimed  Margaret  as  his  wife,  and  pitched  a  coin  in  order 
to  determine  whose  child  the  four-year-old  boy  should  be,  with 
the  result  that  the  lad  fell  to  him.  The  dominie  left  home  that 
same  day  and  never  saw  Margaret  again  till  seventeen  years 
afterward,  when  she  came  to  Thrums  with  her  son,  "the  little 
minister,"  as  he  soon  came  to  be  known  by  reason  of  his  short 

326 


JAMES   MATTHEW  BARRIE  327 

stature.  Margaret,  however,  knew  nothing  of  the  dominie's 
whereabouts  after  he  left  Harvie,  and  Ogilvy  determined  she 
never  should  see  him  in  Thrums. 

Once  established  in  the  manse  with  his  mother  and  the 
serving- maid,  Jean,  "in  eight  days  Gavin's  figure  was  more 
familiar  in  Thrums  than  many  that  had  grown  bent  in  it. 
Though  short  of  stature  he  cast  a  great  shadow.  He  was  so 
full  of  his  duties,  Jean  said,  that  though  he  pulled  the  door  to  as 
he  left  the  manse,  he  had  passed  the  currant-bushes  before  it 
'snecked.'  He  darted  into  courts,  and  invented  ways  into 
awkward  houses.  If  you  did  not  look  up  quickly  he  was  'round 
the  corner." 

A  few  months  before  Gavin's  call  to  Thrums,  the  turbulent 
weavers  of  the  town  had  made  riotous  demonstrations  toward 
the  manufacturers  who  had  reduced  the  price  of  the  web;  and 
since  then  a  watch  had  been  kept  by  the  weavers  lest  the  sheriff 
should  suddenly  bring  a  force  of  soldiery  to  overawe  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  blowing  of  a  horn  was  to  be  a  signal  to  Thrums 
that  the  soldiers  had  arrived  and  that  the  persons  who  had  led 
the  riot  should  make  haste  to  flee.  The  possibility  of  the  com- 
ing of  the  soldiers  was  the  principal  topic  of  discussion  in 
Thrums  save  the  settlement  of  the  Auld  Licht  minister.  Rob 
Dow,  a  drunken  weaver,  who  came  to  kirk  to  annoy  the 
minister,  was  unaccountably  turned  from  his  design  and  be- 
came one  of  Gavin's  stanch  supporters. 

"My  certie,"  he  roared,  "there's  the  shine  frae  Heaven  on 
that  little  minister's  face,  and  them  as  says  there's  no  has  me 
to  fecht." 

On  one  evening  the  minister  visited  Dow,  who  lived  in  the 
neighboring  hamlet  of  New  Zealand,  and  after  praying  with 
him  and  encouraging  him  in  his  resolution  to  keep  sober,  went 
on  to  visit  a  gipsy  family  called  the  Wild  Lindsays.  Not  find- 
ing them,  he  was  coming  through  a  patch  of  woodland  by 
moonlight  when  he  saw  a  dancing  figure  before  him  that  he 
fancied  might  be  the  embodiment  of  a  maiden  said  to  haunt 
the  place.  Presently  she  sang,  and  when  she  saw  him  she  kissed 
her  hand  to  him  and  fled.  Under  the  spell  of  the  moment,  he 
pursued  her,  but  in  vain;  and  soon  after  he  heard  the  signal 
horn.     Hastening  now  to  the  public  square  of  Thrums  he  saw 


328  THE  LITTLE   MINISTER 

the  figure  of  the  gipsy  again,  this  time  as  the  leader  of  a  dozen 
men  with  staves  and  pikes.  In  a  few  moments  the  square  was 
filled  with  a  turbulent  throng,  but  "the  Egyptian,"  as  he  had 
heard  the  gipsy  girl  called,  was  not  visible.  The  minister  en- 
deavored to  pacify  the  excited  people,  but  the  Egyptian,  who 
now  appeared,  opposed  his  counsel,  saying: 

"This  mair  I  ken,  that  the  captain  of  the  soldiers  is  confi- 
dent he'll  nab  every  one  o'  you  that's  wanted  unless  you  do 
one  thing." 

"What  is't?" 

"If  you  a'  run  different  ways  you're  lost,  but  if  you  keep 
thegither  you'll  be  able  to  force  a  road  into  the  country  whaur 
you  can  scatter." 

Intelligence  now  arrived  that  the  soldiers  were  approaching 
from  the  north;  and  crying  "Follow  me!"  the  gipsy  girl  ran 
past  the  town  house,  with  the  crowd  after  her,  and  Gavin  and 
Rob  Dow  were  left  alone  in  the  square.  Dow,  bidden  by  the 
minister,  escaped  to  the  eastward,  and  Gavin  hastened  to 
the  spot  where  the  weavers  were  contending  with  the  soldiers, 
commanded  by  Captain  Halliwell.  Stones  and  clods  were 
cast  at  the  soldiers;  and,  unnoticed  by  anyone,  the  Egyptian 
pressed  a  clod  into  Gavin's  hand,  whispering  "Hit  him!" 
Ere  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  Gavin  flung  the  clod  and  hit 
the  captain  on  the  head.  He  was  horror-stricken  at  having 
done  so,  but  when  he  turned  to  reproach  the  girl  she  had 
vanished. 

It  was  not  long  ere  the  town  house  was  full  of  prisoned 
weavers,  and  the  sheriff  and  Captain  Halliwell  in  its  round  room 
were  discussing  the  evening's  tumult.  It  presently  developed 
that  the  Egyptian  had  cleverly  induced  the  Thrums  policeman, 
nicknamed  "Weary- world,"  to  blow  the  horn;  and  at  that 
moment  of  revelation  she  was  brought  to  the  round  room. 
There  was  much  questioning  on  the  part  of  sheriff  and  cap- 
tain, but  with  small  result;  and  presently  the  girl,  adroitly  up- 
setting the  lamp,  fled  in  the  darkness,  after  locking  the  door 
behind  her  and  thus  imprisoning  the  sheriff  and  Halliwell. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Gavin  was  returning  home 
after  trying  to  comfort  the  families  whose  heads  had  been  cap- 
tured, when  he  saw  a  file  of  soldiers  in  front  of  him,  and  also 


JAMES   MATTHEW   BARRIE  329 

perceived  the  gipsy  in  a  long  cloak  approaching  him.  To  his 
dismay  she  grasped  his  arm,  and  the  soldiers,  now  recognizing 
him,  inferred  that  his  companion  must  be  his  wife.  Quickly 
forestalling  his  remonstrance,  she  caught  at  the  occasion  thus 
offered,  and,  in  a  brief  conversation  with  the  sergeant  com- 
manding the  soldiers,  sustained  the  role  of  the  minister's  wife 
with  entire  success.  To  Gavin's  subsequent  reproaches  she 
was  alternately  penitent  and  audacious,  speaking  freely  in 
"broad  Scots"  and  good  English  by  turns.  They  parted,  but 
she  quickly  returned,  not  being  able  to  escape  in  the  way  she 
had  hoped,  and,  distracted  by  contradictory  emotions,  he  bade 
her  hide  in  the  manse  garden. 

On  the  Sunday  after  the  riot  Gavin  was  announcing  his 
text  to  be  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  Ezra,  when,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  his  hearers,  he  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  then,  showing 
much  agitation,  announced  a  text  from  Genesis,  chapter  three, 
verse  six,  and  preached  a  long  extemporaneous  sermon  against 
women.  The  pulpit  Bible  had  been  used  by  him  in  the  summer- 
house  of  the  manse  garden,  and  as  he  was  giving  out  the  text 
from  Ezra  his  eyes  had  rested  on  a  scrap  of  writing  on  the 
sacred  page: 

"I  will  never  tell  who  flung  the  clod  at  Captain  Halliwell. 
But  why  did  you  fling  it?  I  will  never  tell  that  you  allowed 
me  to  be  called  Mrs.  Dishart  before  witnesses.  But  is  not  this 
a  Scotch  marriage?     Signed,  Babbie  the  Egyptian." 

Sanders  Webster,  the  mole-catcher,  whose  bragging  about 
maltreating  policemen  he  never  saw  led  to  his  being  sent  to  jail 
for  nine  months,  had  a  sister  Nanny  with  whom  he  lived,  and 
his  imprisonment  left  her  alone  and  starving.  Early  in  January 
Gavin  and  Dr.  McQueen  visited  her  in  order  to  reconcile  her 
to  the  necessary  removal  to  the  poorhouse.  The  old  woman 
was  most  unhappy  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  home,  and 
while  Gavin  was  praying  with  her  the  Egyptian  entered  Nanny's 
hut.  Reproaching  the  two  men  for  their  proposed  disposition 
of  Nanny,  the  gipsy  promised  that  she  would  herself  pay  the 
needful  seven  shillings  weekly  for  the  old  woman's  support  till 
Sanders  Webster  should  be  let  out  of  jail  in  the  following 
August.  She  added  that  if  the  minister  would  meet  her  at  a 
specified  place  on  the  Monday,  she  would  hand  him  a  five-pound 


330  THE  LITTLE   MINISTER 

note  for  Nanny's  behoof.  The  minister  promised,  and  the 
doctor  then  drove  away.  Babbie  now  absented  herself  for  a 
short  time  in  order  to  get  some  tea  and  other  necessaries  for 
Nanny,  and  presently  the  three  sat  at  tea  in  very  sociable 
fashion;  Gavin  in  love  with  Babbie,  but  as  yet  unaware  of  it, 
and  now  and  again  bewildered  by  her  coquetry  and  rapidly 
changing  moods. 

Gavin  made  no  mention  of  the  Egyptian  to  his  mother,  but 
on  Monday  he  met  Babbie  at  the  place  appointed,  the  Kaims, 
where  a  much  longer  conversation  ensued  than  was  strictly  re- 
quired to  accomplish  the  errand  of  each;  but  when  Gavin 
stretched  out  his  arms  toward  the  mysterious  girl,  she  ran  away. 

When  the  little  minister  had  gone,  a  man  came  from  be- 
hind a  tree.     It  was  Rob  Dow,  black  with  passion. 

"It's  the  Egyptian!"  he  cried.  "You  limmer,  wha  are  you 
that  hae  got  haud  o'  the  minister?" 

The  next  meeting  of  Babbie  and  Gavin  was  near  Nanny's 
hut,  and  this  time  Gavin  was  quite  sure  of  the  nature  of  the 
feeling  he  had  for  her.  Meanwhile,  Thrums  folk  were  sus- 
picious that  their  clergyman  was  in  love  with  someone,  but 
Rob  Dow  was  the  only  person  who  knew  of  Babbie  in  this  con- 
nection; and  he  feared  that  Gavin  was  being  led  astray.  Dr. 
McQueen,  however,  surprised  the  secret  from  Rob,  who  would 
fain  have  called  it  all  back.  "I'm  roaring  drunk,  doctor,"  he 
said,  "and  it  wasna  the  minister  I  saw  ava';  it  was  another 
man."  At  the  first  opportunity  McQueen  taxed  Gavin  with 
his  interest  in  Babbie,  whereupon  the  minister  owned  his  love 
for  the  girl  and  his  intention  to  marry  her. 

Late  that  night  Gavin  saw  the  flash  of  a  lantern  from  his 
window,  and  going  to  the  garden  he  found  Babbie  and  kissed 
her  as  she  sat  in  the  summer-seat.  He  insisted  on  accom- 
panying her  back  to  old  Nanny's  in  spite  of  the  risk  incurred 
should  anyone  meet  them  thus  together;  and  they  very  shortly 
encountered  the  dominie,  Mr.  Ogilvy. 

"It  is  natural,"  Gavin  said,  "that  you,  sir,  should  wonder 
why  I  am  here  with  this  woman  at  such  an  hour,  and  you  may 
know  me  so  little  as  to  think  ill  of  me  for  it.  But  I  will  explain 
nothing.  You  are  not  my  judge.  If  you  would  do  me  harm, 
sir,  you  have  it  in  your  power." 


JAMES   MATTHEW  BARRIE  331 

The  Egyptian  must  have  seen  that  his  suspicions  hurt  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  for  she  said  softly: 

"You  are  the  schoolmaster  in  Glen  Quharity?  Then  you 
will  perhaps  save  Mr.  Dishart  the  trouble  of  coming  farther  by 
showing  me  the  way  to  old  Nanny  Webster's." 

"I  have  to  pass  the  house,"  he  answered. 

At  the  house  she  looked  abruptly  into  the  dominie's  face 
and  said,  "You  love  him,  too." 

On  the  morrow  following.  Babbie  encountered,  on  a  bleak 
hill  near  Thrums,  Rob  Dow's  small  son,  Micah,  weeping  upon 
the  wishing-stone  there.  Her  questions  elicited  the  informa- 
tion that  he  was  wishing  that  the  woman  who  had  driven  his 
father  to  drink  was  in  hell.  Her  identity  was  unknown  to  him, 
and  his  father  had  said  she  should  be  burned  for  a  witch.  It 
was  Mr.  Dishart  that  she  had  power  over,  the  boy  added.  "  My 
father's  michty  fond  o'  him,  and  when  the  folk  ken  about  the 
woman  they'll  stane  the  minister  out  o'  Thrums." 

Presently  Micah  said  with  conviction: 

"You're  the  woman!  You  micht  gang  awa'.  If  ony  shame 
comes  to  the  minister  his  auld  mither'U  die.  I'll  gie  you  my 
rabbit  if  you'll  gang  awa'." 

Babbie  promised  to  go  away  and  never  return.  Months 
elapsed,  and  Gavin  at  last  gave  up  the  search  for  her,  convinced 
that  he  should  never  see  her  again. 

On  the  5th  of  August  the  old  Lord  Rintoul  was  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  young  bride  at  the  Spittal,  between  Thrums  and  Glen 
Quharity,  and  on  the  day  previous  many  persons  were  gathered 
to  celebrate  the  occasion.  Ogilvy  from  his  window  saw  Lauch- 
lan  Campbell,  a  Highland  piper,  rushing  down  the  highway 
playing  his  pipes  and  now  and  again  shaking  his  fist  in  the 
direction  of  the  Spittal,  the  immediate  cause  of  his  wrath  being 
a  command  to  play  an  air  abhorrent  to  the  Campbells.  Some 
hours  later.  Babbie  entered  the  dominie's  house,  crying  out  that 
Gavin  had  been  killed  by  the  angry  piper.  This,  however, 
was  a  mistake.  The  piper,  in  an  altercation  with  Dow,  had 
been  stunned  by  a  blow  from  the  other;  Gavin,  trying  to  inter- 
cept the  blow,  had  fallen,  and  the  report  had  gone  out  that  he 
was  killed.  Ogilvy,  having  left  Babbie  at  old  Nanny's,  went 
onward  to  Thrums  and  there  learned  the  truth  from  Gavin 


2,32  THE   LITTLE   MINISTER 

himself,  who  then  accompanied  the  dominie  back  to  Nanny's 
and  so  discovered  Babbie. 

Ogilvy  left  them  together,  and  Babbie,  confessing  that  she 
was  to  be  married  to  Lord  Rintoul,  told  him  of  her  gipsy  origin 
and  how  Rintoul  had  found  and  educated  her  in  order  some  day 
to  marry  her.  But  it  was  Gavin  who  had  taught  her  what  love 
was,  she  said.  A  meeting  at  the  kirk  to  pray  for  rain  was  to 
be  held  that  same  evening,  but  Gavin  did  not  appear,  and  the 
congregation  dispersed  in  mingled  anger  and  sorrow  to  search 
for  their  minister.  Lord  Rintoul  was  already  searching  in  his 
dog-cart  for  the  promised  bride,  who  had  fled  from  him  at  the 
last  moment,  and,  knowing  this,  Gavin  and  Babbie  went  on  to 
the  gipsy  camp  and  were  there  married,  gipsy  fashion,  over 
the  tongs. 

A  drought  of  many  weeks  was  broken  that  night  by  a  deluge 
of  rain,  preceded  by  lightning  flashes,  in  one  of  which  Gavin 
and  Babbie  were  revealed  to  Rintoul  with  hands  clasped  over 
the  tongs.  The  ceremony  had  barely  taken  place  when  Babbie 
was  snatched  from  her  husband  in  the  darkness — by  Rintoul, 
as  Gavin  then  thought.  The  storm  now  increased  in  violence, 
and  the  countryside  was  soon  under  water.  In  the  morning 
Dominie  Ogilvy  found  his  schoolhouse  surrounded  by  water, 
and  not  far  away  he  discovered  Gavin  lying  exhausted  on  the 
hillside.  Taking  the  minister  to  the  schoolhouse,  the  dominie 
allowed  him  to  sleep  many  hours. 

When  Gavin  awoke,  fully  determined  to  prevent  Babbie's 
marriage  to  Rintoul,  the  dominie,  in  hopes  to  change  his  resolu- 
tion, revealed  the  story  of  their  relation  to  each  other,  but 
Gavin  remained  resolute  and  set  off  for  the  Spittal  while  Ogilvy 
departed  for  Thrums  in  order  to  send  word  to  Margaret  that 
her  son  was  safe.  The  fog  was  now  very  dense,  and  only  by 
great  hazard  could  Ogilvy  make  his  way  through  the  flooded 
region,  and  by  long  detours  reach  Thrums  where,  to  his  great 
surprise,  he  found  Babbie  at  the  manse. 

Her  captor  at  the  gipsy  camp  was  not  Rintoul  but  Rob 
Dow,  who,  in  his  insane  regard  for  Ga\dn,  meant  to  kill  Babbie 
for  having  led  the  minister  astray,  as  he  explained  to  her  in 
frenzied  language.  She  managed  to  escape  from  him  in  the 
darkness,  but  his  own  progress  was  stopped  soon  after  by  a 


JAMES   MATTHEW   BARRIE  333 

falling  tree  which  pinned  one  of  his  legs  to  the  ground.  Babbie 
made  her  way  at  length  to  the  manse,  where  Jean  admitted  her, 
and  later  Rintoul  sought  her  there  and  begged  her  to  return 
with  him,  but  she  refused.  He  then  departed,  and  Margaret, 
who  knew  nothing  of  Gavin's  love  for  Babbie,  fancied  that  only 
a  lover's  quarrel  was  now  dividing  Babbie  from  Lord  Rintoul. 

A  cannon-shot  was  to  have  been  the  signal  that  Rintoul's 
marriage  had  taken  place,  and  the  roar  of  falling  rocks  loosened 
by  the  rain  was  mistaken  for  the  signal  by  Gavin  and  others. 
The  minister,  on  his  way  to  the  Spittal,  narrowly  escaped  falling 
into  the  foaming  Quharity  in  the  mist  through  the  warning  of 
a  shepherd;  and  as  the  fog  lifted  slightly  they  saw  Rintoul  lying 
on  a  fast-vanishing  island  below.  The  minister  leaped  boldly 
into  the  torrent,  drew  the  Earl  out  of  the  water  and  tried  to 
restore  him  to  consciousness.  In  this  he  succeeded,  but  so 
rapidly  was  the  island  disappearing  that  unless  help  could 
reach  them  they  would  have  been  drowned  in  another  hour. 
The  Earl  shouted  out  rewards,  but  his  voice  could  not  reach 
the  shepherds  and  others  on  the  high  bank.  Then  the  minis- 
ter called  out  the  items  of  his  will,  concluding  by  singing  the 
Twenty-third  Psalm.  All  attempts  to  throw  ropes  to  the  two 
men  had  failed,  when  Rob  Dow,  who  had  been  released  from 
under  the  tree,  with  his  crushed  leg  now  leaped  into  the  water, 
holding  a  rope  whose  end  was  caught  by  the  Earl,  who,  with 
Gavin,  was  then  drawn  to  shore  in  safety,  while  Rob,  whom 
Gavin  tried  to  grasp,  was  swept  on  with  the  torrent. 

Margaret  never  knew^^how  nearly  Gavin  came  to  being 
turned  out  of  his  kirk,  but  his  fortitude  won  back  his  people's 
hearts.  "He  was  an  obstinate  minister  and  love  had  led  him 
a  dance,  but  in  the  hour  of  trial  he  had  proven  himself  a  man." 

Gavin  and  Babbie  were  married  by  Gavin's  predecessor  in 
the  manse,  while  Lord  Rintoul  returned  to  his  English  estates 
and  never  came  again  to  the  Spittal.  As  for  little  Micah  Dow, 
he  had  always  the  best  of  friends  in  the  little  minister.  Of  the 
dominie  in  the  glen,  by  his  own  desire,  Margaret  never  heard. 


ANTON   GIULIO    BARRILI 

(Italy,  1836) 
THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT    (1870) 

Among  the  many  pleasantly  farcical  tales  by  this  author,  none  is  more 
popular  than  the  following,  which  has  been  dramatized  for  the  Italian  stage. 

^ASTELNUOVO  BEDONIA,  a  manufacturing 
town  on  the  slope  of  the  Apennines,  rejoiced  in 
the  possession  of  a  forceful  Subprefect.  He 
and  his  wife — they  had  no  children — were  quar- 
tered, along  with  many  other  officials,  in  the 
Government  building.  It  was  currently  re- 
ported that  the  Registrar  was  soon  to  be  turned 
out  of  his  apartment  there  because  the  Sub- 
prefect  required  more  room.  The  Subprefect's 
wife  was  very  agreeable  when  not  descanting  upon  her  hus- 
band's wrongs.  Perhaps  she  had  good  cause  to  complain,  for 
several  officers  had  already  been  promoted  over  her  husband's 
head,  in  absolute  disregard  of  his  right  to  advancement.  The 
Subprefect  listened  to  his  wife  and  smiled,  for  he  beheld  the 
day  speedily  approaching  when  justice  would  be  done  him. 

For  two  months  Subprefect  Tiraquelli  had  been  holding 
weekly  receptions,  an  unprecedented  novelty,  which  gave  rise 
to  endless  gossip.  The  Minister  of  the  Interior  had  promised 
to  eject  the  Registrar  from  the  Government  building,  and  to 
give  Tiraquelli  the  whole  second  story,  in  order  that  the  famous 
receptions  might  continue.  The  question  was:  Why  should  a 
subprefect,  with  a  salary  of  only  four  thousand  lire  and  no 
private  resources,  permit  himself  the  expensive  luxury  of  weekly 
receptions?    And  why  was  the  Minister  so  interested? 

From  these  receptions  the  townspeople  held  aloof  at  first. 

334 


ANTON  GIULIO   BARRILI  335 

Occasionally  there  was  a  new  visitor,  and  lately  an  archeologist 
had  appeared  there — the  Duca  di  Francavilla.  He  was  an 
amateur;  but  no  professional  could  have  been  more  enthu- 
siastic. The  Duke  was  handsome,  young,  witty,  elegant,  and 
democratic.  After  his  arrival  in  town,  the  Subprefect's  re- 
ceptions became  triumphant  successes.  The  host  enthusias- 
tically chanted  his  praises  and  foresaw  the  approach  of  the  day 
when  the  whole  district  would  become  loyal  to  the  policy  of  the 
party  in  power.  To  this  end  Subprefect  Tiraquelli  labored, 
and  in  pursuance  of  this  aim  he  had  a  private  talk  with  one  of 
his  guests,  Signor  Prospero  Gentili,  and  set  forth  to  him  an 
attractive  scheme.  He  endeavored  to  persuade  Signor  Gentili 
that  he  would  certainly  become  a  chevalier,  or  even  a  com- 
mander with  the  collar,  if  he  would  only  be  complaisant.  Then 
he  declared  that  the  Government  wished  the  Duca  di  Franca- 
villa to  marry  Signor  Gentili's  very  wealthy  orphan  niece  and 
ward,  Signorina  Adele  Ruzzani.  Signor  Gentili  replied  that 
the  young  lady  might  take  it  into  her  head  not  to  like  the  ar- 
rangement, in  which  case  he  should  be  helpless.  Her  head, 
not  her  heart,  was  what  he  feared.  She  was  very  fond  of  her 
liberty,  and  of  gratifying  her  caprices — and  extremely  queer 
caprices  they  were.  He  admitted  that  he  was  more  than  eager 
to  see  his  beautiful  niece  a  duchess,  and  promised  to  use  his 
influence  with  her  to  bring  about  the  marriage.  He  accepted 
the  Subprefect's  assurance  that  the  Duke  was  wildly  in  love 
with  the  girl,  and  beheved  that  he  would  become  "Chevalier" 
or  even  "Commander"  GentiU. 

The  chief  magnet  of  the  Subprefect's  receptions  was  the 
young  millionairess,  Adele  Ruzzani.  The  beautiful  Adele 
wore  her  fine  blonde  hair  cut  short  just  below  her  ears,  like  a 
medieval  page,  which  was  very  becoming  to  her  animated  face. 
She  cared  little  for  music,  danced  only  when  compelled,  had 
no  feminine  tastes,  and  lamented  her  ignorance  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  declaring  that  she  would  learn  both  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. The  Duke  realized  that  in  order  to  capture  such  a 
girl  he  must  exercise  craft.  He  showered  his  attentions  im- 
partially upon  all  social  ranks  in  Castelnuovo,  nobly  paying 
court  to  all  the  elderly  ladies,  and  showing  Adele  Ruzzani  no 
more  attention  than  the  other  young  girls.     He  spent  his  morn- 


336  THE   ELEVENTH   COMMANDMENT 

ings  in  archeological  researches,  and  his  evenings  in  improving 
his  mind  at  the  Subprefect's  receptions. 

When  the  Subprefect  and  Signor  Gentili  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  after  their  conference,  the  Duke  announced  that 
he  had  discovered  a  medieval  wonder  in  the  neighborhood — 
"The  Monastery  of  the  Madmen."  He  explained  that  while 
on  the  way  to  his  excavations,  he  had  met  a  peasant  who  had 
offered  to  show  him  a  fox's  lair  as  soon  as  he  should  have  de- 
livered his  load  at  the  monastery.  The  Duke's  curiosity  was 
aroused,  and  after  questioning  the  peasant  about  the  monastery, 
he  decided  to  accompany  him  thither.  A  brief  colloquy  with 
the  gatekeeper  ended  in  an  invitation  to  the  Duke  to  enter  the 
monastery  and  take  luncheon  with  the  Prior.  Visitors  were 
rarely  admitted,  the  gatekeeper  explained,  because  they  were 
generally  curious  persons  who  wished  to  discover  who  the 
monks  were,  and  their  reasons  for  living  in  retirement  in  this 
singular  "lay  monastery."  There  were  nine  monks  in  residence, 
the  Duke  said,  and  five  more  were  expected  at  any  moment. 
These  monks  wore  snuff-colored  habits.  Their  Prior  was  a 
very  handsome,  intelligent  man  of  five-and-thirty,  who  had 
questioned  him  minutely  on  his  archeological  researches,  re- 
marking that  the  brethren  intended  to  undertake  something  of 
the  sort  themselves.  In  reply  to  the  Duke's  somewhat  indis- 
creet questions,  the  Prior  had  informed  him  that  their  com- 
munity did  not  make  a  specialty  of  hating  women,  though  the 
sex  might  be,  in  part,  the  reason  for  retirement  in  some  cases. 
He  had  explained  that  all  the  brethren  had  fled  from  the  world 
"with  the  second  vocation";  the  rather  surprising  but  per- 
fectly natural  distinction  between  that  and  the  first  vocation 
being  that,  in  his  youth,  every  man  has  two  vocations.  The 
first  should  be  distrusted,  because  it  is  impossible  to  discern,  at 
first  sight,  whether  it  is  true  or  false;  hence  the  tardy  regrets, 
the  frenzies  and  long  agonies  of  the  cloister.  The  second  voca- 
tion is  the  true  one,  because  it  comes  to  those  who  have  had 
experience  in  the  battles  of  life,  and  a  man  surrenders  himself 
to  it  with  full  knowledge. 

As  the  Duke  had  said,  the  Monastery  of  the  Madmen  was 
expecting  a  reenforcement  of  five.  A  week  later,  on  the  morn- 
ing that  the  gatekeeper  had  received  orders  to  admit  these  new- 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  337 

comers  as  soon  as  they  should  present  themselves,  two  persons 
arrived,  and  announced  that  they  were  desirous  of  becoming 
brethren.  One  was  a  fair-haired  youth,  with  fine  features,  an 
elegant  figure,  and  a  beardless  face.  His  anxious-looking  com- 
panion was  an  old  man,  fat,  rosy,  and  shining. 

While  Father  Giocondo  was  gone  to  announce  them  to  the 
Prior,  the  old  man  suggested  gloomily  that  they  should  beat  a 
retreat.  But  the  youth  replied:  "I've  given  you  my  orders, 
uncle.  You  must  do  as  I  wish,  or  I'll  take  a  dose  of  poison. 
And,  see  here — there's  to  be  no  running  away  from  this  place!" 

When  the  handsome  Prior  Anacleto  arrived,  the  young  man 
answered  most  of  the  questions.  He  announced  his  age  as 
twenty-two,  assured  the  Prior  that  his  vocation  would  be  of 
the  lasting  sort,  and  allayed  his  doubts  in  general.  At  last 
Father  Anacleto  consented  that  the  pair  should  remain  as 
"novices."  A  year,  six  months,  three  months  hence,  at  their 
pleasure,  said  the  Prior,  the  question  of  their  vocation  might 
be  discussed  again.  When  told  that  everyone  must  have  some 
special  occupation,  the  old  man  announced  himself  as  an  agri- 
culturist, while  the  seraphic  youth  admitted  he  could  sing  a 
little,  and  that  he  had  some  skill  at  the  piano  and  also  in 
drawing.  Father  Anacleto  remarked  that,  as  they  were  about 
to  set  up  a  scientific  journal,  to  record  the  results  of  their 
studies,  and  illustrations  would  be  required,  the  knowledge 
of  drawing  would  be  very  useful.  He  then  had  the  newcomers 
conducted  to  their  cells,  after  they  had  given  their  names  as 
Prospero  Gentili  and  Adelindo  Ruzzani. 

Meanwhile,  Subprefect  Tiraquelli  was  under  the  impression 
that  he  knew  precisely  where  the  future  Commander  Gentili 
and  his  lovely  niece  were  gone.  Two  days  after  the  Duke's 
narration  of  his  adventures  at  the  monastery,  Signor  Gentili 
had  called  on  the  Subprefect,  and  announced  that  he  and  his 
niece  were  going  to  Milan  for  a  week,  as  Adele  had  certain 
purchases  to  make,  and  wished  to  have  the  family  jewels  reset. 
The  information  about  the  jewels  had  precisely  the  effect  which 
the  clever  Adele  had  calculated  upon  when  she  ordered  her 
uncle  to  impart  it.  No  sooner  had  Signor  Gentili  taken  his  de- 
parture than  the  Subprefect  wrote  a  confidential  letter  to  the 
Minister,   announcing  that  the  marriage  project  was  making 

A.D.,  VOL.  II.  —  22 


338  THE   ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  best  possible  progress,  mentioning,  in  confirmation,  the 
significant  fact  about  the  jewels.  A  few  days  later,  he  reflected 
that  Signor  Gentili  had  neither  written  to  him  nor  left  an  ad- 
dress. He  determined  to  prove  to  him  that  he  could  discover 
it;  so  he  telegraphed  to  an  official  in  Milan  inquiring  at  what 
inn  Signor  Gentili  was  staying.  The  official  reply  that  no  per- 
son resembling  Signor  Gentili,  either  with  or  without  a  niece, 
was  at  any  hotel  in  Milan,  astonished  the  Subprefect. 

At  the  second  reception  from  which  Adele  Ruzzani  was 
absent,  the  Subprefect  had  hardly  succeeded  in  soothing  the 
impatient  Duke  with  the  story  of  the  visit  to  Milan,  when  a 
certain  elderly  lady,  the  Countess  Gamberini,  revealed  to  the 
assembly  that  Signor  Gentili  and  his  niece  had  gone  to  become 
monks  in  the  Monastery  of  the  Madmen!  Her  agent,  on  his 
way  from  inspecting  one  of  her  estates,  had  caught  sight  of  the 
pair  riding  on  asses ;  had  concealed  himself,  and  had  afterward 
questioned  the  peasant  who  had  carried  their  bags  and  was 
returning  with  the  asses.  The  peasant  had  heard  them  state 
their  intention  to  the  gatekeeper. 

The  Duke  was  overwhelmed,  and  sternly  demanded  of  the 
Subprefect:  "What  will  the  Minister  say?" 

The  Subprefect  was  crushed:  the  prospect  of  his  com- 
mandership  was  gloomy. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  novices  had  been  enjoying  an  immense 
success  in  the  monastery.  Father  Anacleto  had  explained 
their  presence  to  the  brethren  with  much  plausibility,  saying 
that  he  had  exercised  liberty  of  action  in  a  case  not  provided 
for  by  the  rules  of  their  community.  Several  of  the  brethren 
thought  "Brother  Adelindo"  too  young,  and  that  he  looked 
like  a  girl;  but  all  admired  "the  seraphic  youth,"  and  tried  to 
be  often  in  his  society.  Brother  Adelindo  spoke  in  as  throaty 
a  voice  as  he  could  command,  and  although  timid  at  first,  he 
speedily  gained  confidence.  In  the  course  of  a  week  life  in  the 
monastery  underwent  a  great  change. 

No  work  and  no  recreation  could  go  on  except  in  the  com- 
pany of  Brother  Adelindo.  All  were  full  of  good-will,  and 
everything  was  soon  made  ready  for  issuing  their  great  work, 
the  scientific  journal,  the  edition  of  which  was  to  be  strictly 
limited  to  a  copy  for  each  brother,  and  an  extra  one  for  the 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  339 

monastery  library.  Everyone  felt  that  the  first  number  must 
contain  some  sketches  by  Brother  Adelindo.  Accordingly,  an 
expedition  was  undertaken  to  the  Cave  of  the  Witches,  and 
their  explorations  yielded  abundant  material  for  the  pencil  of 
the  fair-haired  brother,  who  sketched  diligently  while  the  other 
fifteen  monks  stood  around  him  in  a  state  of  rapt  admiration. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  every  one  of  them  had  divined  that 
"Brother  Adelindo"  was  a  woman;  but  not  one  announced  his 
discovery  to  his  companions.  The  scientific  journal  lagged; 
little  was  written,  nothing  at  all  profitable  was  thought  of  in 
the  cells  of  the  recluses.  Everything  and  everybody  revolved 
around  Brother  Adelindo. 

Presently  the  gatekeeper  began  to  be  besieged  by  would-be 
visitors.  They  came  singly,  they  came  in  groups.  Father 
Anacleto  became  suspicious,  and  gave  orders  that  no  one  was 
to  be  allowed  to  enter.  If  a  visitor  came  with  a  specific  request 
to  see  a  particular  brother,  he  was  forced  to  remain  in  the  parlor 
at  the  bridge,  enjoying  the  fresh  air,  until  the  gatekeeper  had 
informed  the  person  wanted  and  had  brought  him.  Obviously, 
these  new  visitors  were  curious  persons  from  Castelnuovo;  for 
it  now  seemed  to  require  two  or  more  persons  to  bring  a  basket 
of  eggs,  or  any  other  object  for  the  monastery's  use. 

One  day  Father  Prospero  was  summoned  to  the  parlor.  He 
showed  no  surprise.  In  fact,  the  visit  had  been  announced  to 
him  in  a  letter,  over  which  he  had  pondered  long.  He  had  not 
shown  it  to  the  fair-haired  seraph.  Truth  to  tell,  he  was  tired 
of  the  eternal  buzzing  of  the  apocryphal  friars  around  the  young 
monk,  and  the  letter  was  more  than  welcome.  Father  Pros- 
pero's  visitor  was  the  Subprefect,  who  laughed  at  his  rotund 
form  in  the  snuff-colored  habit  (which  enhanced  the  charms 
of  Brother  Adelindo,  by  the  way),  and  reproached  him  for  al- 
lowing himself  to  be  led  by  a  girl's  caprices,  and  for  not  having 
informed  his  friends  of  this  strange  action.  Father  Prospero 
replied  that  Adele  had  made  him  conform  to  her  will  from  the 
age  of  six  months,  when  he  had  taken  charge  of  her  at  her 
mother's  death;  but  he  declared  that  he  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  be  rescued  from  his  present  predicament. 

The  Subprefect  promised  to  counteract  the  gossip  of  the 
town;  but  insisted  that  Signor  Prospero  and  his  niece  must  go 


340  THE   ELEVENTH   COMMANDMENT 

to  Turin  for  a  month,  setting  out  by  night  in  a  carri.age  which 
he  would  send.  Poor  Signor  Prospero  said  his  niece  would 
never  consent;  she  was  enjoying  herself  hugely!  She  had  be- 
witched all  the  brethren,  who  waited  upon  her  and  sang  her 
praises  all  day  long;  Father  Anacleto  was  the  only  one  who  had 
not  lost  his  head. 

The  Subprefect  declared  that  Father  Anacleto  was  the  most 
dangerous  of  them  all;  he  w^as  a  former  cavalry  officer  from 
Ferrara,  who  had  resigned  and  had  flung  himself  into  politics, 
of  which  he  had  soon  wearied.  He  had  had  endless  love- 
affairs,  and,  one  fine  day,  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  reform 
the  world;  and  this  queer  lay  monastery  was  his  freak.  The 
girl  would  end  by  falling  in  love  with  him  or  some  other  one 
of  the  brethren,  if  she  remained  there. 

Signor  Prospero,  thoroughly  alarmed,  promised  to  aid  in 
any  plan  of  rescue  which  the  Subprefect  might  invent.  On 
his  return  to  the  monastery,  he  found  that  all  the  brethren  had 
disappeared.  They  were  holding  a  serious  conference  in  the 
Chapter-room,  and  the  doorkeeper  refused  him  admittance, 
on  the  ground  that  he  was  still  a  novice.  Accordingly,  he  set 
out  in  quest  of  his  niece,  who  also  had  disappeared;  and  after 
a  long  search  he  arrived  in  the  library.  "Where  the  devil  can 
she  have  gone?"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  A  low  hiss  answered 
him  from  a  balcony,  and  his  niece  signaled  to  him  that  he  was 
to  keep  quiet  while  she  listened  to  the  discussions  of  the  Chap- 
ter! When  the  brothers  had  retired  to  the  Chapter-room,  she 
had  set  out  in  quest  of  a  post  of  observation,  and  had  discovered 
an  attic  intended  for  drying  fruits,  situated  directly  above  the 
Chapter-room.  In  the  uncarpeted  floor  she  found  a  hole, 
which  enabled  her  to  see  and  hear,  by  turns,  all  that  took  place 
in  the  Chapter-room.  The  discussion  there  waxed  warm. 
Some  of  the  new  arrivals  protested  strongly  against  the  presence 
of  women  in  the  monastery,  and  asserted  that  young  Brother 
Adelindo  was  a  woman.  Father  Anacleto  argued  that  a  woman 
had  once  been  Pope,  that  women  had  served  with  distinction 
in  various  armies,  and  had  never  been  expelled  from  their  regi- 
ments, even  when  their  sex  became  known.  By  analogy,  there- 
fore, there  was  no  reason  why  so  quiet  and  gentle  a  person  as 
Brother  Adelindo  should  be  expelled,  even  though  a  content 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  341 

might  be  a  more  suitable  place  for  her.  The  Prior  remarked, 
further,  that  he  had  suspected  Brother  Adelindo's  sex  on  the 
third  day  after  her  arrival,  but  had  not  interfered,  because  all 
the  brethren  were  gentlemen;  adding  that  to  refuse  her  ad- 
mission, even  had  they  known  her  sex  beforehand,  would 
have  been  equivalent  to  declaring  that  they  were  afraid  of 
women.  If  her  presence  was  a  temptation,  let  them  thank 
Fate,  which  had  thrown  in  their  way  such  a  peril — one  which 
had  been  encountered  and  overcome  by  divers  saints  and  holy 
men. 

This  exordium  was  received  with  cries  of  "Stupendous!" 
"Divine!"  "Immense!"  by  the  brethren  (and  by  the  seraph, 
in  her  hiding-place,  with  a  gratified  smile);  but  there  were 
enough  dissenting  voices  to  cause  Father  Anacleto  to  offer  his 
resignation,  with  the  suggestion  that  they  should  elect  another 
prior.  It  was  decided  to  postpone  action  on  this  point;  also, 
that  the  two  novices  were  not  to  be  allowed  to  get  wind  of  the 
fact  that  they  were  objects  of  suspicion. 

Brother  Adelindo,  perceiving  that  the  Chapter  was  on  the 
point  of  adjourning,  flew  down  through  the  library  (where  her 
uncle  was  peacefully  slumbering),  and  out  of  doors. 

Meanwhile,  Father  Anacleto  was  suffering  from  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  had  worked  out  an  intricate  problem  without 
having  taken  into  account  one  element  which  now  threatened 
to  destroy  all  his  calculations.  He  had  suspected  from  the  first 
that  Father  Prospero's  nephew  was  a  woman;  but  he  had  ig- 
nored the  possible  consequences  of  that  fact  upon  the  monas- 
tery family.  He  was  driven  to  meditate  upon  his  own  real 
view  of  her.  Before  long  he  noted  a  curious  fact:  the  two 
fathers  who  had  been  his  partizans  in  the  Chapter  began  to 
change  their  honeyed  speech  toward  him  for  one  tinged  with 
bitterness,  while  all  his  opponents  became  extremely  devoted 
to  the  disturbing  youth,  considerably  more  so  than  Father 
Anacleto  relished.  This  was  the  situation  of  affairs  when  the 
Subprefect  called  upon  the  Prior,  and  was  promptly  received. 
The  Subprefect  explained  his  visit  by  saying  that  he  was  in- 
specting communities  in  his  district  and  asked  to  be  shown 
the  monastery.  Father  Anacleto  courteously  complied,  but 
sent  word  to  the  brethren  that  as  many  as  wished  might  come 


342  THE   ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT 

to  luncheon  with  the  Subprefect,  and  that  any  who  were  ill 
would  be  served  in  their  own  apartments.  If  the  Subprefect 
had  hoped  to  surprise  Adele  Ruzzani  by  this  visit,  his  calcula- 
tions were  upset  by  the  Prior's  quick  wit. 

The  Subprefect  announced  to  Father  Anacleto,  as  the  chief 
object  of  his  visit,  that  he  wished  to  inquire  whether  there  were 
any  women  in  the  monastery;  a  rumor  being  current  in  Castel- 
nuovo  that  a  young  girl,  with  her  elderly  uncle,  had  run  away 
from  her  home  to  the  monastery,  and  was  still  there.  The 
Prior  replied  that  the  girl  was  there,  but  of  her  own  free  will, 
and  under  no  constraint  to  remain.  The  Subprefect  suggested 
that  gossip  was  rife,  and  that  if  the  young  lady  did  not  return 
home  promptly  she  never  would  be  able  to  get  a  husband,  in 
spite  of  her  millions — unless  someone  should  present  himself 
who  could  testify  that  this  most  imprudent  caprice  could  not 
possibly  cast  a  shadow  on  her  good  name. 

Father  Anacleto  exclaimed  impetuously  that  the  Subprefect 
need  have  no  fear :  no  one  there  wished  to  marry,  or  to  set  traps 
for  wealthy  girls,  and  that  as  tranquillity  was  the  chief  blessing 
they  had  sought  in  this  solitude,  their  peace  demanded  that 
Signorina  Adele  Ruzzani  should  leave  the  monastery  as  speedily 
as  possible.  The  Subprefect  rapturously  embraced  the  Prior 
and  departed. 

Father  Anacleto  had  observed  three  vacant  places  at  lunch- 
eon, and  had  been  told  that  Father  Agapito  had  accompanied 
Brothers  Prospero  and  Adelindo  to  the  woods.  At  this  he  had 
felt  a  certain  irritation.  He  now  proceeded  in  search  of  the 
missing  trio.  As  he  approached  the  woodland,  hearing  voices, 
he  peeped  through  the  bushes  and  beheld  a  most  idyllic  scene. 
Prospero  was  stretched  out  on  the  turf,  with  his  head  resting 
against  a  projecting  rock,  and  his  face  covered  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. Beside  him  sat  the  fair-haired  brother  with  lap  full 
of  flowers,  while  Father  Agapito,  close  at  hand,  was  plucking 
sprays  of  clematis.  These  Brother  Adelindo  wove  into  a  gar- 
land, then  placed  it  on  his  head,  resembling  then  some  of  the 
youthful  friars  in  a  fourteenth-century  picture;  while  Father 
Agapito,  in  ecstatic  admiration,  represented  a  Dominican  or 
Franciscan  monk  from  one  of  the  same  pictures.  Father  Ana- 
cleto, restraining  his  inclination  to  dash  from  his  hiding-place, 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  343 

stole  away,  muttering:  "Devil  take  it!  I  must  put  an  end  to 
this,  or  peace  will  vanish!" 

Returning  to  the  monastery,  he  informed  his  comrades  as 
to  the  object  of  the  Subprefect's  visit,  and  announced  the 
identity  of  the  novices. 

In  the  course  of  the  discussion  that  followed,  Father  Resti- 
tuto,  with  a  candor  which  smacked  of  irony,  was  defending 
Brother  Adehndo  as  "a  very  nice  boy,  the  light  and  joy  of  the 
monastery,"  when  the  three  absentees  made  their  appearance, 
and  the  seraph  inquired  why  the  Subprefect  had  come.  The 
Prior  requested  her  to  come  to  him  after  dinner,  with  her  uncle ; 
but  she  declared  that  she  preferred  to  hear  the  story  alone,  and 
would  go  to  the  garden,  where  the  Prior  might  join  her. 

When  the  brethren  beheld  the  Prior  and  Brother  Adelindo 
strolling  off  to  the  garden,  they  decided  that  the  Prior  had  no 
right  to  send  the  fair  guest  away  without  consulting  them. 
They  also  decided  that  the  conference  in  the  garden  must  be 
broken  up,  and  that  the  proper  person  to  do  it  was  Father  Pros- 
pero,  who  was  asleep  in  the  library.  When  they  awakened  him 
he  responded  phlegmatically  to  their  persuasions,  and  said  he 
would  depart  at  once  with  his — nephew!  Father  Agapito  sug- 
gested that  the  Prior's  heart  was  touched,  and  that  if  he  found 
himself  Adelindo's  chosen  companion  he  would  abstain  from 
ordering  the  pair  away,  in  which  case  Father  Prospero  would 
be  compelled  to  remain  in  the  monastery  forever.  This  moved 
Father  Prospero  to  set  out  for  the  garden;  but  he  turned  back, 
reflecting  that  if  his  niece  and  Father  Anacleto  loved  each  other 
the  monastery  was  fated  to  come  to  a  speedy  end,  and  that  he 
would  then  be  free. 

Accordingly,  he  told  the  disappointed  brethren  that  what- 
ever the  Prior  did  would  be  well  done;  whatever  pleased  his 
niece  would  please  him;   and  he  resumed  his  interrupted  nap. 

Meanwhile,  the  Prior  was  trying  to  explain  to  Brother  Ade- 
lindo the  Subprefect's  errand,  but  found  it  somewhat  difficult, 
as  the  roguish  girl  declared  that  the  Adele  Ruzzani  in  question 
was  her  sister,  and  persisted  in  discussing  the  matter  from  that 
point  of  view,  which  gave  her  the  opportunity  to  say  many  things 
concerning  the  numerous  proposals  she  had  received  on  account 
of  her  wealth;   about  a  woman's  own  feelings  regarding  suitors 


544  THE   ELEVENTH   COMMANDMENT 

in  general,  and  mentioning  the  latest  of  her  own  suitors  (the 
Duke),  who  was  being  forced  upon  her,  whereas  she  preferred 
to  wait  for  a  man  who  would  love  her  sincerely.  But  in  spite 
of  her  cleverness  this  discussion  did  not  lead  the  Prior  to  ex- 
press his  love,  and  Brother  Adelindo  inquired  why  he  had  with- 
drawn from  the  world.  Chiefly,  the  Prior  replied,  because  he 
had  fancied  himself  to  be  in  love,  and  had  discovered  that  he 
was  mistaken.  He  hinted  at  Father  Agapito's  admiration  for 
Brother  Adelindo;  for  himself,  he  said,  he  would  cling  to  the 
peace  he  had  acquired.  Thereupon  the  fair  seraph  read  him 
a  lesson  upon  the  disgrace  of  a  soldier  deserting  the  battle  of 
life,  and  wound  up  by  imploring  him  to  leave  the  monastery, 
declaring  that,  while  he  might  be  keeping  the  Ten  Command- 
ments with  all  due  strictness,  he  was  breaking  the  Eleventh 
Commandment — that  which  is  assumed  by  the  first  ten,  and 
which  includes  all  the  rest.  That  Commandment,  she  told 
him,  is:  "Thou  shalt  remain  in  the  company  of  thy  fellow- 
men;  thou  shalt  live  their  life;  thou  shalt  love  and  suffer  with 
them:  For  it  is  not  permitted  to  thee  to  alienate  thyself  from 
the  general  law."  She  added  that  there  was  a  penalty  for 
breaking  this  commandment,  and  that  Father  Anacleto  might 
meditate  for  himself  as  to  what  it  was;  meanwhile,  was  she  to 
be  permitted  to  remain  at  San  Bruno,  or  must  she  take  her 
departure?  The  Prior  reluctantly  pronounced  his  decision: 
She  must  depart  on  the  morrow.  And  at  five  o'clock  the  next 
morning  she  forced  her  uncle  to  return  with  her  to  Castelnuovo, 
despite  his  efforts  to  carry  out  the  Subprefect's  suggestion  that 
they  spend  a  fortnight  or  a  month  in  Turin,  Venice,  and  other 
places.  After  their  departure,  the  gatekeeper  knocked  at  the 
Prior's  door,  and  handed  him  a  card,  whereon,  handsomely 
engraved,  was  Signor  Prospcro  Gentili's  name,  accompanied  by 
a  daintily  penciled  message  of  thanks  for  the  hospitality  shown 
to  Signor  Gentili  and  his  niece,  and  an  invitation  to  call  at  the 
Palazzo  Ruzzani. 

All  night  the  Prior  had  been  paying  the  penalty  for  breaking 
the  Eleventh  Commandment!  He  was  soon  called  to  account 
by  his  fellow-monks  for  the  departure  of  their  guests.  The 
discussion  grew  warm,  and  Father  Agapito  expressed  the  view 
of  the  rest  when  he  declared  that  the  seraph's  confession  as  to 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  345 

her  true  name  and  station  was  invalid,  because  it  had  been 
made  to  the  Prior  alone,  whereas  the  whole  Chapter  had  the 
right  to  hear  it.  The  Prior  retorted  by  addressing  Father 
Agapito  by  his  worldly  name,  and  ended  by  remarking  that  a 
pair  of  Toledo  blades  and  two  sword-canes  hung  upon  the 
walls  of  his  cell.  Father  Agapito  promptly  accepted  this  chal- 
lenge and  addressed  the  Prior  by  his  secular  name.  Seconds 
were  chosen  at  once,  and  a  duel  was  arranged  to  take  place 
immediately.  Just  as  the  adversaries  were  on  the  point  of 
attacking,  the  eight  monks  not  engaged  arrived  in  a  body  to 
protest,  declaring  that  the  population  of  Castelnuovo  would 
take  advantage  of  such  a  scandalous  proceeding  as  a  duel  to 
say  all  possible  evil  of  the  monastery.  Father  Agapito,  highly 
incensed  at  the  interruption,  exclaimed  that  the  monastery 
might  go  to  the  devil;  which,  being  interpreted  in  plain  and 
polite  language,  declared  Father  Restituto  meant:  "Let  us 
dissolve  the  community."  Of  truth,  the  demon  had  entered 
there,  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death  had  overwhelmed  it 
since  that  woman  had  departed.  Father  Marcellino  expressed 
his  surprise  at  that  opposition,  on  the  part  of  Father  Restituto, 
to  the  order  of  the  Prior — "the  only  man  among  us  who  has 
not  lost  his  head  in  love." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Marcellino,"  replied  the  Prior,  gravely; 
"  I  am  more  in  love  with  her  than  all  the  rest  of  you  put  together." 

But  when  the  Prior  declared  that  he  had  not  even  asked 
the  lady  about  her  sentiments.  Father  Agapito  offered  Father 
Anacleto  his  hand,  and  the  adversaries  embraced.  Father 
Agapito  then  announced  that  all  the  monks,  beginning  with 
the  Prior,  were  at  liberty  to  pay  court  to  the  seraph,  if  they 
wished.  Father  Anacleto  reaffirmed  his  desire  to  resign  the 
post  of  Prior;  and  when  Father  Restituto  proposed  that  Father 
Marcellino's  suggestion  as  to  the  dissolution  of  the  monastery 
should  be  adopted,  because  they  had  been  opposing  the  law 
of  nature.  Father  Anacleto  proclaimed  to  them  the  Eleventh 
Commandment. 

On  the  morning  after  their  return  home,  Signor  Gentili 
made  his  official  appearance  in  the  town,  and  met  curious 
questions  and  spiteful  insinuations  with  much  courage  and 
skill.     The   Subprefect   received  him  warmly,  addressed  him 


346  THE   ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT 

as  "Commander,"  and  warned  him  that  the  Duca  di  Franca- 
villa  would  call  on  the  following  evening  to  make  his  official 
proposal  for  his  niece,  and  must  be  promptly  accepted.  In  re- 
porting to  the  Minister  the  return  of  Signor  Gentili  and  his 
wealthy  niece,  the  Subprefect  explained  that  their  absence  had 
been  protracted  to  a  month  on  account  of  the  former  having 
fallen  seriously  ill  in  Turin. 

The  next  day  Signorina  Adele  Ruzzani  was  kept  busy  re- 
ceiving calls  from  several  gentlemen  who  were  not  residents  of 
the  town.  Late  in  the  afternoon  a  card  was  brought  to  her, 
whereon,  under  a  count's  coronet,  handsomely  engraved,  was 
the  name:  "Valentino  Gualandi  del  Poggio."  Below,  in  pen- 
cil, was  written:  "Anacleto."  Sending  the  servant  in  search 
of  her  uncle,  Adele  flew  to  the  mirror,  surveyed  her  blushing 
face,  then  hastened  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the  Count 
announced  to  her  that  he  had  resigned  his  office,  and  that  the 
monastery  was  dissolved.  She  remarked  that  she  knew  these 
facts  already.  In  reply  to  his  surprised  inquiry,  she  confessed 
that  two  of  the  brethren  had  called  on  her  the  day  before;  four 
had  called  that  day,  and  she  was  now  momentarily  expecting 
the  few  remaining  members  of  the  community,  who  had  ap- 
peared to  regard  her  with  friendly  eyes,  she  said,  modestly 
lowering  her  gaze. 

When  Signor  Prospero  returned  home,  and  was  informed 
by  the  servant  of  this  latest  visitor,  he  could  not  reconcile  his 
niece's  apparent  satisfaction  at  leaving  the  monastery  with  the 
equally  apparent  intention  of  the  entire  brotherhood  to  transfer 
themselves  to  her  house.  The  Count  was  invited  to  remain  to 
dinner;  and  when  Signor  Prospero  left  him  alone  with  Adele 
a  few  moments,  he  ventured  to  inquire  the  object  with  which 
his  fellow  "monks"  had  called,  professing  inability  to  believe 
that  they  should  have  come  to  ask  her  hand  unaccompanied 
by  the  necessary  grave  and  reasonable  relative,  whose  presence 
was  required  by  etiquette  under  such  circumstances.  The 
young  lady  reassured  him  by  saying  that,  as  she  had  set  them  a 
bad  example  by  her  trip  to  the  monastery,  she  had  pardoned 
their  neglect  of  etiquette.  Thus  encouraged,  the  Count  informed 
her  that  he  had  sent  a  telegram  to  his  elderly  cousin,  the  Mar- 
chese  Melli,  begging  him  to  come  to  Castelnuovo  at  once,  on 


ANTON   GIULIO   BARRILI  347 

vitally  important  business;  but  that  now  he  asked  for  her  hand 
himself.  The  roguish  girl  replied  that  she  would  take  the  mat- 
ter under  consideration.  But  when  the  Subprefect  arrived,  she 
introduced  the  Count  to  him  as  her  betrothed,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  both  gentlemen.  The  Subprefect  contented  himself 
with  swearing  at  her  uncle,  and  was  not  consoled  when  the 
Count  announced  to  him  the  dissolution  of  the  monastery, 
quoting  to  him  his  own  words:  "A  lay  monastery  is  a  bad  ex- 
ample, a  treason  to  society." 

When  the  Subprefect  reported  to  the  Minister  the  frustra- 
tion of  their  plans,  he  added  that,  thanks  to  his  astuteness,  he 
had  succeeded  in  suppressing  the  undesirable  lay  monastery  of 
San  Bruno,  and  that  the  monastery  property  had  been  presented 
to  Castelnuovo.  But  the  Minister  was  not  greatly  impressed, 
and  sent  him  no  reward  but  the  chevalier's  cross  of  an  order — 
which  added  no  dignity,  as  he  already  possessed  the  same  sort 
of  cross  in  another  order. 

A  few  weeks  later,  the  wedding  of  Count  Gualandi  del 
Poggio  and  Adele  Ruzzani  was  celebrated.  Before  leaving 
Castelnuovo  for  their  new  home,  they  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  deserted  monastery;  and  there,  for  the  first  time,  the  mis- 
chievous bride  learned  of  the  duel  which,  on  her  account,  had 
come  so  near  being  fought. 


ARLO    BATES 

(United  States,  1850) 
A   WHEEL    OF   FIRE   (1885) 

The  author  planned  and  began  this  storj-,  and  then  laid  it  aside  as  too 
painful.  Upon  his  repeating  the  plot  to  Mr.  Howells,  however,  he  was  en- 
couraged to  finish  it.  The  comedy  scenes  between  Elsie  and  Dr.  Wilson  were 
introduced  largely  to  enliven  the  story  and  by  contrast  to  heighten  the  pathos 
of  the  loneliness  of  Damaris.     We  present  here  the  author's  own  synopsis. 

JAMARIS  WAINWRIGHT  was  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  her  surroundings,  as  she  sat  in  the 
hbrary  of  her  colonial  mansion,  discussing  mat- 
ters of  importance  with  her  lawyer,  Sherlock 
Lincoln. 

The  room,  like  every  other  apartment  in 
the  old  Wainwright  house,  had  scarcely  changed 
in  appearance  since  colonial  days.  The  Wain- 
wrights  had  lived  in  the  mansion,  father  and 
son,  for  more  than  two  centuries;  and,  as  blood  in  America 
goes,  not  even  that  of  the  most  gallant  Virginian,  or  the  state- 
Hest  Knickerbocker  of  them  all,  was  more  purely  blue  than 
that  which  faintly  flushed  the  cheek  of  Mistress  Damaris, 
as  she  sat  there  in  her  deep  mourning,  the  light  of  the  fire 
within,  and  of  the  fading  day  without,  illuminating  her  slender 
figure. 

The  interview  with  her  lawyer  had  been  brought  about  by 
the  recent  death  of  her  mother,  and  Damaris,  having  been  made 
executrix  of  her  estate,  had  sent  for  Mr.  Hamilton,  her  legal 
adviser,  to  arrange  matters  with  him.  A  sudden  attack  of  ill- 
ness had  made  it  impossible  for  Mr.  Hamilton  to  accede  to  her 
request,  so  in  his  place  he  had  sent  Sherlock  Lincoln,  his  junior 
partner,  who  never  had  met  Miss  Wainwright.  He  was  im- 
pressed by  her  air  of  deep  melancholy,  and  did  not  understand 
her  vehement  assertion  that  she  never  would  marr}\     After 

348 


ARLO   BATES  349 

taking  leave  of  her,  however,  he  was  followed  to  the  door  by 
Hannah  Stearns,  the  aged  housekeeper,  whose  startling  revela- 
tions filled  him  with  horror  and  pity. 

She  told  him  that  the  taint  of  insanity  was  in  the  family; 
that  Damaris's  mother  had  been  insane  during  the  last  ten  years 
of  her  life,  and  that  her  only  brother,  who  was  also  demented, 
was  incarcerated  in  a  private  asylum.  Lincoln  left  the  house 
deeply  impressed  by  the  charm  and  sadness  of  Miss  Wain- 
wright,  and  by  the  tragedy  which  enfolded  her. 

Staying  with  Damaris  was  her  cousin  and  lifelong  friend, 
Elsie  Dimmont,  but  in  spite  of  their  close  relationship  the  two 
were  not  really  in  sympathy.  Elsie  was  gay  and  frivolous, 
while  her  cousin,  who  felt  the  blighting  shadow  of  madness 
hanging  over  her,  was  unable  to  throw  off  her  continual 
melancholy. 

Her  first  knowledge  of  the  family  doom  had  come  to  Damaris 
in  her  nineteenth  year,  when  her  brother  was  stricken  with  this 
terrible  malady  upon  the  night  of  his  graduation  from  Harvard 
College.  John  Wainwright  had  been  an  athlete  and  a  social 
leader,  and  was  exceedingly  popular  with  his  classmates.  His 
dreadful  doom  came  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  to 
Damaris  the  shock  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  Up  to  this 
time  she  had  been  a  happy,  careless  girl,  unconscious  of  im- 
pending evil,  but  from  the  moment  she  hastened  to  her  mother 
with  the  terrible  tidings  she  was  a  changed  being. 

Damaris  never  forgot  the  calmness  with  which  her  mother 
received  the  dreadful  news,  and  her  remark,  "Has  it  come, 
then?"  was  a  revelation,  the  shock  of  which  changed  her  whole 
life.  With  a  thrill  of  deadly  pain  she  realized  that  she,  no 
less  than  her  brother,  might  be  born  to  this  heritage  of  woe,  and 
that  the  time  allotted  before  the  curse  should  fall  was  but  a 
respite  granted  by  the  fates.  Henceforth  a  perpetual  fear 
preyed  upon  Damaris's  life,  carrying  away  all  joy  and  rending 
her  heart  with  hopeless  anguish. 

On  the  evening  following  her  interview  with  Lincoln, 
Damaris  sat  with  Elsie,  watching  the  dying  embers  of  the  wood- 
fire  on  the  hearth  and  trying  to  throw  off  the  usual  cloud  of  sad- 
ness. A  wild  November  storm  was  raging,  which  added  to  the 
gloom  of  the  old  house,  and  both  girls  were  under  the  spell  of 


350  A  WHEEL   OF  FIRE 

the  many  sad  memories  connected  with  it,  though  they  tried  to 
overcome  these  impressions. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  startling  peal  of  the 
door-bell,  and  from  their  seats  by  the  fire  Damaris  and  Elsie 
could  hear  the  suppressed  murmur  of  conversation,  of  which 
the  words  were  not  audible. 

Damaris  started  to  her  feet,  and  with  the  words,  "It  is  about 
John,  Elsie,"  hurried  to  the  hall  door. 

Her  premonition  proved  only  too  true,  as  she  was  met  with 
the  tidings  that  her  brother  had  escaped  from  the  asylum  and 
was  presumably  trying  to  make  his  way  to  his  home. 

This  painful  news  was  brought  by  Dr.  Chauncey  Wilson,  a 
young  physician  who  had  been  one  of  those  in  charge  of  Wain- 
wright's  case  at  the  hospital,  and  who  was  at  once  received  into 
the  household  pending  John's  expected  arrival. 

Some  hours  later  the  invalid  was  discovered  by  Damaris's 
faithful  dog,  Wallace,  lying  in  the  snow  within  a  few  feet  of 
his  own  door.  The  exposure  and  exertion  were  followed  by  a 
severe  illness,  during  which  he  was  tended  by  Dr.  Wilson  and 
the  loyal  old  housekeeper,  Hannah  Stearns. 

During  the  trying  days  of  sickness,  Damaris  found  her  only 
solace  in  the  companionship  of  Sherlock  Lincoln,  and  for  him 
she  conceived  a  deep  and  violent  attachment,  such  as  she  never 
had  felt  for  anyone  before. 

John  Wainwright's  illness  ended  suddenly  and  tragically. 
His  nurse  was  obliged  to  leave  him  for  a  time,  and  in  the  interval 
Elsie  was  stationed  to  keep  watch  just  outside  his  chamber 
door.  After  what  appeared  to  her  to  be  a  suspiciously  long 
silence,  she  cautiously  looked  in  to  assure  herself  that  all  was 
well.  Then  she  found  that  her  cousin  had  managed  with 
stealthy  silence  to  hang  himself.  An  immediate  and  careful 
examination  proved  that  life  was  already  extinct.  Thus  had 
one  more  calamity,  never  to  be  effaced  or  forgotten,  come  darkly 
into  the  history  of  the  old  house.  Elsie's  fright  and  horror  were 
indescribable  when  she  saw  what  had  happened,  but  even  in 
her  frenzy  she  was  able  to  hide  the  truth  from  Damaris,  and 
pretended,  when  questioned,  that  she  had  slipped  and  turned 
her  ankle. 

Hannah  Stearns,  a  pillar  of  strength  on  all  occasions,  took 


ARLO   BATES  351 

charge  of  affairs  at  this  crisis,  and  she  and  Dr.  Wilson  settled 
matters  and  kept  secret  all  details. 

The  bereaved  sister  bore  her  loss  with  stoical  resignation, 
and  looked  upon  her  brother's  death  as  a  release  from  a  life  of 
misery  and  suffering. 

After  the  funeral  Damaris  presented  Lincoln  with  a  valuable 
intaglio  ring,  which  had  belonged  to  her  brother  and  which  she 
requested  him  to  wear  for  his  sake  and  hers.  Lincoln  was 
much  embarrassed  and  touched  by  this  unexpected  gift,  and 
responded  in  a  confused  manner  that  he  was  ready  to  serve  her 
in  every  way,  and,  as  far  as  it  was  possible,  would  be  glad  to 
fill  her  brother's  place.  Damaris  thanked  him  for  his  kindness, 
and  he  left  her  with  the  realization  that  he  was  growing  to 
care  deeply  for  her. 

While  Damaris  had  been  finding  solace  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Lincoln,  Elsie  had  been  passing  away  the  time  in  a 
flirtation  with  Dr.  Wilson;  although  this  young  man  was  not 
to  the  "manner  born,"  and  had  risen  from  the  ranks  through 
his  own  exertions,  he  had  a  strength  of  character  which  made 
up  for  his  lack  of  polish  and  social  training. 

Elsie,  who  had  always  associated  with  the  men  who  be- 
longed to  her  own  exclusive  circle,  found  in  Dr.  Wilson  a  type 
entirely  new  to  her  and  played  with  him  accordingly. 

One  day  when  seeking  for  diversion,  Elsie  amused  herself 
by  showing  Dr.  Wilson  some  of  the  heirlooms  and  curios  that 
the  old  house  contained,  and  chief  among  these  was  an  exquisite 
chalice  of  rare  old  German  glass  whose  associations  made  its 
value  priceless. 

It  had  been  used  as  a  betrothal  cup  for  many  generations 
in  the  family  and  had  been  originally  presented  to  a  remote 
ancestor  by  a  German  prince. 

After  displaying  the  treasure,  Elsie  endeavored  to  restore 
it  to  its  place,  but  in  doing  so,  to  her  horror,  snapped  the  delicate 
stem  from  the  bowl. 

She  was  filled  with  consternation  and  was  undecided  whether 
to  confess  the  accident  to  Damaris  or  to  conceal  it ;  finally  she 
settled  on  the  latter  plan,  satisfying  her  conscience  v^th  the 
thought  that  her  cousin  had  so  many  things  to  worry  her  it 
would  be  wicked  to  add  one  more  to  the  number. 


352  A  WHEEL   OF  FIRE 

After  John  Wainwright's  death,  it  was  decided  that  Damaris 
must  have  a  change  of  scene,  and  so  she  and  Elsie  returned  to 
the  city,  for  a  visit  at  Elsie's  home. 

The  Dimmonts'  residence  was  in  a  fashionable  part  of 
Boston,  and  the  family  was  well  known  in  the  social  doings  of 
the  city.  But  Damaris  found  it  impossible  to  forget  her  grief 
in  spite  of  her  cheerful  surroundings,  and  the  efforts  of  her 
relatives  to  divert  her  from  her  sad  memories  were  unavailing. 

One  evening,  soon  after  her  arrival,  while  sitting  in  the 
library  of  her  uncle's  home  with  her  friend  Sherlock  Lincoln, 
her  despondency  was  so  great  that  he  endeavored  to  rouse  her 
from  it. 

"Come,"  he  said,  with  brusk  decisiveness,  "this  will  not 
do  at  all.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  your  philosophy  of 
life  is,  but  at  least  there  is  no  doubt  that  you  have  had  so  much 
hard  fortune  that  you  refuse  to  expect  anything  else.  I  don't 
wonder  at  it.  I've  no  especial  right  to  lecture  you  like  a  school- 
girl, but  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  turning  away  from  the  sun, 
and  from  all  the  joy  there  is  in  the  world.  Life  isn't  on  the 
average  either  sad  or  painful.  Sorrow  isn't  our  normal  con- 
dition. That  your  life  has  been  so  bitter  thus  far  is  so  much 
evidence  that  better  things  are  to  come.  Don't  give  your- 
self up  to  grief,  Miss  Wainwright;  it  isn't  wise  and  it  isn't 
brave." 

Damaris  lifted  a  face  strongly  marked,  not  with  indignation, 
but  with  pain,  as  she  answered: 

"But  what  can  life  do  for  me?  I  am  only  wearing  out  the 
brief  respite  before  my  hereditary  doom  falls  on  me." 

"You  are  wrong,"  he  cried,  in  tones  of  the  most  absolute 
conviction.  "I  tell  you,  you  are  no  more  under  doom  than  I 
am.  I  know  it,  and  you  are  wilfully  throwing  away  the  possi- 
bilities of  life  by  believing  it." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  interrupted,  painfully,  "no,  no;  not  wilfully." 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "wilfully.  It  is  wrong  to  yourself  and 
it  is  viTong  to  others." 

She  grew  so  deathly  white  that  not  even  the  gay  lamp-shade 
could  conceal  her  pallor.  He  feared  she  would  faint,  but  she 
drew  herself  up  with  a  quick,  shuddering  breath,  and  he  started 
from  his  seat  and  walked  to  the  fire. 


ARLO   BATES  353 

Lincoln  then  explained  to  Damaris  that  he  spoke  with  the 
authority  of  Dr.  Wilson  and  another  eminent  doctor,  who 
agreed  that  insanity  was  not  hereditary,  and  reiterated  that  it 
was  necessary  that  she  rid  her  mind  of  dreadful  thoughts  at 
once. 

Damaris  was  greatly  shaken  by  Lincoln's  words,  which 
brought  with  them  conviction;  but  her  morbid  brooding  of  years 
on  this  subject  had  worked  upon  her  mind  so  that  she  was  be- 
yond the  point  of  dispassionate  reasoning. 

She  lifted  to  Lincoln  a  face  over  which  the  tears  streamed 
in  a  bitter  flood. 

"You  mean  to  be  kind,"  she  moaned,  "but  oh,  you  are  so 
cruel!" 

"I  am  cruel  to  be  kind,"  he  returned,  never  shrinking,  al- 
though his  own  eyes  were  wet.  "I  cannot  let  you  be  the  victim 
of  this  horrible  nightmare.     You  must  believe  me." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  as  if  utterly  exhausted,  with 
an  aspect  of  wo  pitiful  to  see. 

"I  will  go  now,"  Lincoln  said,  with  a  world  of  tenderness 
and  pity  in  his  voice.  "But  you  must  believe  what  I  say. 
Good-by." 

And  where  he  left  her,  half  fainting  in  her  chair,  Elsie,  on 
her  return  from  the  theater,  found  her. 

Soon  after  this  interview,  Damaris  returned  to  her  home, 
and  very  shortly  she  received  a  visit  from  Sherlock  Lincoln, 
during  which  he  declared  his  love  for  her  and  finally  persuaded 
her  to  confess  her  affection  for  him.  After  he  had  overcome 
her  many  scruples  regarding  their  engagement,  and  had  at  last 
won  her  consent,  he  said: 

"Dearest,  you  shall  never  regret  this.  I  have  said  to  my- 
self that  I  must  win  you  for  my  wife  from  the  first  day  I  ever 
saw  you.     I  could  not  have  given  you  up." 

Damaris  bent  over  his  hand  as  he  spoke  and  kissed  it;  then 
she  flushed  rosy  red,  and  to  cover  her  confusion  she  rose  quickly 
and  opened  the  narrow  door  of  the  quaint  china-closet  beside 
the  chimney. 

"There  has  never  been  a  betrothal  in  our  family,"  she  said, 
taking  down  the  morocco  case  in  which  was  kept  the  old  Wain- 
wright  glass,  "  or  at  least  none  for  a  century,  that  has  not  been 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 23 


354  A  WHEEL   OF  FIRE 

pledged  in  this  glass.     Though  betrothals,"  she  added,  "have 
long  been  unheard  of  here." 

She  placed  the  case  upon  the  small  old-fashioned  table 
which  held  the  lamp,  and  with  her  hand  upon  the  lid,  turned 
toward  him  a  face  so  full  of  archness  that  he  hardly  recog- 
nized it. 

"It  is  so  strange  that  I  can  hardly  believe  it  real,"  she 
laughed.  "I  never  believed  the  old  glass  would  be  filled  for 
me.  I  am  not  sure  even  now  that  fate  will  not  interpose  in 
some  unexpected  way." 

He  bent  forward  and  kissed  her  bright  face,  which,  mingled 
with  its  joy,  had  a  tremulousness  that  suggested  tears. 

"I  think  we  can  afford  to  defy  fate  now,"  he  answered. 
"If  love  isn't  stronger,  then  one  can  have  faith  in  nothing." 

Her  look  of  response  was  eloquent.  She  unfastened  the 
clasp  and  opened  the  case.  Glittering  in  its  velvet  bed  lay  the 
antique  glass,  reflecting  the  lamplight  in  many  tinted  rays;  but 
when  Damaris  lifted  it,  only  the  bowl  came,  the  standard  lying 
separated  in  its  place.  A  sudden  pallor  quenched  the  joy  of 
her  face,  as  a  black  flood  may  cover  golden  sands.  All  women 
are  superstitious  when  love  is  concerned,  and  the  coincidence 
was  in  itself  too  painful  to  be  lightly  regarded.  Damaris 
turned  to  her  lover  a  face  full  of  terror. 

"Fate  has  prevented!"  she  said. 

Sherlock  Lincoln  was  a  man  of  too  resolute  a  fiber  and  of 
too  absolute  self-control  to  lose  his  presence  of  mind  in  this 
emergency. 

"Nonsense,"  he  returned,  taking  the  glass.  "When  fate 
attempts  a  thing  she  does  it  more  thoroughly.  We  can  drink 
out  of  this  perfectly  well.  And  if  you  are  set  on  an  omen,"  he 
added,  smiling  at  his  whim,  "you  may  regard  this  as  a  symbol 
that  our  life  is  detached  from  the  past  and  from  all  you  have 
feared  from  it." 

After  the  betrothal  Damaris  went  back  to  the  city  for  an- 
other visit  with  the  Dimmonts,  and  she  and  Elsie,  who  had 
become  engaged  to  Dr.  Wilson,  found  their  love-affairs  most 
absorbing. 

Arrangements  were  hastened  for  the  marriage  of  Damaris 
and  Lincoln,  as  he  was  desirous    to    have  as  little  delay  as 


ARLO   BATES  355 

possible,  and  was  impatient  for  the  time  to  come  when  lie  could 
shield  his  betrothed  from  the  sorrows  that  had  encompassed 
her  so  long. 

The  wedding-day  arrived  and  was  sunny  and  bright,  as  all 
bridal  days  should  be.  Damaris,  dressed  in  her  bridal  robes 
by  Hannah  and  Elsie,  was  very  beautiful,  though  pale  as  a 
statue,  and  awaited  her  lover,  who  was  to  have  a  few  moments 
with  her  before  the  ceremony. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  to  Damaris  as  if  a  hand  of  ice  clutched 
her  heart.  Since  the  question  of  her  right  to  marry  had  been 
the  problem  which  had  tortured  her,  the  ceremony  itself  had 
come  illogically  but  naturally  to  seem  the  awful  crisis,  and  she 
was  possessed  by  a  vague  feeling  that,  if  she  could  so  far 
evade  the  vigilance  of  malevolent  fate  as  to  go  through  the 
actual  rite,  she  might  yet  escape.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
bear  the  delay  of  an  instant,  so  strongly  was  she  oppressed 
with  a  horrible  sense  that  her  doom  was  approaching  with  swift 
feet,  and  that  if  she  were  not  Lincoln's  wife  before  the  horror 
could  reach  her,  she  must  fall  a  victim  to  its  fury.  The  mo- 
ments she  waited  seemed  to  her  endless.  She  heard  Hannah 
moving  in  the  next  room,  unwilling  to  go  down -stairs  before 
her  mistress,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Damaris  restrained 
herself  from  calling  out  to  bid  her  inquire  why  the  bridegroom 
did  not  come. 

Then  she  smiled  with  a  painful  sense  of  her  folly,  and  en- 
deavored to  be  reasonable.  She  knew  it  had  in  reality  been 
but  a  moment  since  Elsie  left  her,  and  she  tried  to  give  her 
whole  attention  to  the  details  of  her  toilet.  She  looked  into 
the  mirror  to  see  whether  the  lace  at  her  throat  was  graceful 
in  its  folds,  and  suddenly,  without  warning,  a  horrible  fancy 
came  to  her  that  it  would  be  a  wild  joy  to  clutch  such  a  soft 
white  neck  with  fierce  fingers  and  crush  out  all  the  life!  She 
seemed  impelled  to  reach  out  to  catch  and  strangle  that  image 
in  the  glass,  and  at  the  same  time  she  felt,  in  a  strange  double 
consciousness,  as  if  someone  behind  her  chair  were  preparing 
to  seize  her.  Then  with  a  thrill  of  agony  she  realized  what  she 
was  thinking,  and  she  cast  around  her  a  beseeching  glance, 
vainly  seeking  help. 

Yet  surely  that  girl  in  the  mirror  was  another  creature  than 


356  A  WHEEL   OF  FIRE 

herself.  Damaris  extended  her  hand  toward  the  figure  with  a 
mocking  gesture,  and  laughed  a  little,  in  an  absent-minded, 
absorbed  fashion,  when  the  white-robed  stranger  did  the  same. 
She  dropped  her  hands  into  her  lap,  and,  watching  with  a  glance 
of  horrible  cunning  from  beneath  her  drooping  lids  the  white, 
smooth  neck  of  that  other  girl,  she  began  with  furtive  haste  to 
pull  off  her  gloves.  She  would  assure  herself  whether  the  fair 
throat  were  as  soft  as  it  appeared;  and  with  motions  catlike 
and  swift,  she  cast  the  gloves  to  the  floor  and  rose  to  steal  upon 
the  stranger. 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  this  must  be  some  guest  at  her 
own  wedding,  and  the  hereditary  instinct  of  hospitality  as- 
serted itself.  She  sank  back  into  a  chair,  with  hands  falling 
passive  in  her  lap.  She  felt  confused  and  dizzy.  Something 
seemed  to  be  unutterably  wrong,  and  she  knew  not  what  it  was. 
Why  should  this  stranger  be  here,  and  why  did  she  regard  her 
so  closely?  She  struggled  with  her  wandering  thoughts,  stri- 
ving to  understand  how  it  chanced  that  she  was  not  alone. 

Watching  intently,  she  saw  with  a  shock  of  surprise  and 
pity  that  this  hapless  girl  in  the  mirror  was  twisting  her  fingers 
in  the  well-remembered  gesture  which  her  mother  had  shown 
in  the  coming  on  of  madness.  Damaris  was  seized  with  a  great 
compassion  of  grief  for  the  fair  young  creature  whom  such  an 
awful  doom  had  overtaken.  The  fate  of  this  stranger  had  been 
swifter,  Damaris  reflected,  than  the  feet  of  her  bridegroom! 
Her  bridegroom !  The  word  touched  the  very  core  of  her  half- 
dazed  intelligence.  Like  the  swift  thrust  of  a  white-hot  sword, 
with  rending,  searing  agony,  the  truth  came  home  to  her.  She 
knew  the  image  of  herself! 

The  unspeakable  anguish  of  ages  of  pain  was  concentrated 
into  that  moment.  It  was  like  the  horror  of  one  who  hangs 
a  measureless  instant  upon  the  dizzy  brink  of  an  abyss  down 
which  he  knows  himself  dashing.  That  fatal  gesture  which 
she  knew  so  well  smote  the  hapless  bride  with  a  terror  too  great 
for  words.  All  power  failed  her;  she  could  not  breathe;  an 
intolerable  pressure  crushed  her  bosom.  Great  drops  of  suf- 
fering beaded  her  forehead,  and  she  gasped  with  an  absolute 
sense  of  suffocation  as  if  an  ocean  wave  had  suddenly  rolled 
over  her. 


ARLO   BATES  357 

She  heard  her  dog  at  the  door,  and  with  a  mad  impulse  to 
flee  she  sprang  to  her  feet  just  as  Lincoln  knocked. 

The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  some  far  distance,  and  was 
muffled  and  half  lost  amid  the  confused  murmur  which  filled 
her  ears  like  the  beat  of  rushing  waters. 

Then  once  more  for  an  instant  her  failing  reason  struggled 
to  consciousness,  as  a  drowning  swimmer  writhes  a  last  time 
to  the  surface  and  gasps,  only  to  yield  his  breath  in  futile 
bubbles  that  mark  the  spot  where  he  sank.  With  a  supreme 
effort,  her  vanquished  will  for  a  moment  reasserted  itself;  she 
knew  her  lover  was  at  the  door,  and  she  knew  also  that  the  feet 
of  doom  had  been  swifter  than  those  of  the  bridegroom.  She 
even  asked  herself  in  agonized  frenzy  whether  she  might  not 
have  been  saved  had  Sherlock  reached  her  a  moment  sooner. 
And  as  she  thought  she  sprang  forward  and  opened  the  door. 

"I  am  mad!"  she  shrieked,  in  a  voice  which  pierced  to 
every  corner  of  the  old  mansion. 

The  housekeeper  came  running  from  the  inner  chamber, 
while  Wallace  shrank  whining  at  his  mistress's  feet.  Lincoln, 
white  as  death,  caught  Damaris  in  his  arms,  as  if  he  would 
snatch  her  from  the  jaws  of  death  itself  if  need  be.  She  struggled 
in  his  embrace,  a  wild  glare  in  her  eyes  replacing  the  flickering 
light  of  intelligence. 

Then  Hannah  Stearns  took  her  from  her  bridegroom,  drew 
her  into  the  chamber,  and  closed  the  door. 

After  a  few  days  of  suffering,  Damaris  died  and  was  laid  at 
rest  in  the  quiet  country  churchyard. 

Lincoln,  heart-broken  and  crushed  by  the  sad  ending  of 
his  hopes,  left  the  scenes  which  held  for  him  such  memories, 
and  went  abroad,  where  he  wandered  long  in  an  effort  to  forget. 


RENE   BAZIN 

(France,  1853) 
THE  INK-STAIN   (1888) 

This  is  the  author's  best-known  work  and  was  crowned  by  the  French 
Academy.  He  is  known  as  the  "Apostle  of  Home  Life."  The  descriptions  of 
French  country  Kfe  and  the  ghmpses  into  that  scholarly  sanctuary,  the  National 
Library  of  Paris,  have  made  this  book  very  popular  in  translation. 

WAS  born  in  La  Chatre,  and  attended  La  Chatre 
College  for  eighteen  years.  My  parents  died 
when  I  was  so  young  that  I  barely  remember 
them,  and  my  uncle,  jM.  Brutus  Mouillard,  a 
solicitor  of  Bourges,  was  appointed  my  guardian. 
He  had  planned  to  leave  me  his  practise,  and 
therefore  when  my  school-days  were  over  he 
sent  me  to  Paris  to  take  a  course  in  law.  Three 
years  later  I  became  a  probationary  barrister. 
In  the  intervals  of  my  legal  studies  I  took  my  arts  degree,  and 
now  I  am  working  for  that  of  Doctor  of  Laws. 

This  afternoon,  the  loth  of  December,  1884,  when  I  was  at 
work  in  the  National  Library,  Paris,  writing  my  thesis  for  my 
doctor's  degree,  a  serious  accident  happened  to  me,  and  some- 
thing tells  me  that  this  event  is  destined  to  bring  about  a  crisis 
in  my  existence.  I  believe  that  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  write  my 
memoirs,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  have  begun  to  jot  down  a 
record  of  the  incidents  relating  to  this  misadventure. 

Briefly,  the  affair  occurred  as  follows:  I  was  at  the  desk 
where  I  had  written  the  name  of  the  book  I  wanted,  and,  as  I 
laid  down  the  pen,  it  slipped  off  the  desk  and  fell  upon  an 
Early  Text  that  Monsieur  Charnot,  a  member  of  the  Institute, 
was  reading,  depositing  thereupon  a  huge  and  hideous  blot. 
M.  Charnot  was  enraged,  and  the  librarian  hardly  less  so. 
Barely  was  the  blot  dry  before  I,   Fabien   Jean   Jacques 

358 


RENE   BAZIN  359 

Mouillard,  barrister,  91  Rue  de  Rennes,  took  up  my  pen  and 
began  writing  this  book — my  memoirs. 

Feeling  that  my  first  duty  was  to  apologize  to  the  distin- 
guished reader  whom  I  had  offended,  I  consulted  Monsieur 
Flamaran,  my  professor,  as  to  how  I  should  go  about  it.  He 
advised  me  to  call  on  M.  Charnot,  who  was  his  intimate  friend, 
at  his  home  in  the  Rue  de  I'Universite. 

December  30//^.  I  have  seen  M.  Charnot.  The  servant 
ushered  me  unannounced  into  the  library,  where  the  learned 
man  was  spinning  a  spiral  twist  of  paper  under  the  lamplight 
to  amuse  his  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen.  I  felt 
greatly  embarrassed,  and  stumbled  through  a  few  infelicitous 
sentences  which  were  coldly  received  by  the  eminent  scholar. 
When  I  left  the  room,  the  young  girl  was  standing  motionless, 
looking  at  me  with  the  expression  of  an  angry  Diana.  I  im- 
agine that  this  was  because,  in  trying  to  say  something  com- 
plimentary about  a  learned  work  of  which  M.  Charnot  was 
the  author,  I  stupidly  allowed  him  to  know  that  I  was  aware 
that  he  had  published  it  at  his  own  expense,  and  that  only 
twenty-seven  copies  of  it  had  been  sold. 

December  315/.  This  New  Year's  Eve  I  returned  to  my 
lodgings  in  a  very  dejected  state  of  mind.  After  meditating 
some  time,  I  decided  to  go  to  see  my  dear  friend  Sylvestre 
Lampron,  whom  I  found  engraving  by  lamplight.  He  was 
copying  a  portrait  he  had  once  painted  of  a  lovely  Italian  girl; 
and  he  told  me  that  while  he  was  painting  the  original,  he  and 
his  sitter  had  fallen  in  love  with  each  other;  that  she  belonged 
to  a  very  distinguished  family,  who  would  not  hear  of  a  daugh- 
ter of  their  house  marrying  an  artist;  and  that  they  had  taken 
her  away.  Not  long  after  that  she  became  ill  and  died.  This 
portrait  he  cherished,  and  although  her  parents  had  asked  for 
it  many  times,  he  never  would  part  with  it. 

March  T,d.  The  year  is  advancing,  and  my  essay  is  grow- 
ing. I  still  see  M.  Charnot  reading  in  the  library  nearly  every 
day.  I  am  seeking  an  opportunity  of  meeting  him  again,  and 
his  lovely  daughter  is  the  reason!  I  may  as  well  own  it — I 
have  fallen  in  love  with  the  beautiful  girl  who  looked  at  me  so 
angrily.  Jeanne  is  her  name,  and  I  have  often  tried  to  see 
her  once  more,  but  so  far  without  success.     One  afternoon  I 


36o  THE   INK-STAIN 

walked  to  and  fro  in  front  of  her  house  eight  times,  and  yester- 
day I  spent  five  hours  at  the  spring  opening  of  the  Bon  Marche, 
for  I  thought  surely  every  young  woman  in  Paris  would  be 
there.     But  no  Jeanne  was  to  be  seen. 

April  2,d.  I  have  much  to  write  about  to-day.  I  went  to 
the  Place  St.  Sulpice,  where  the  flower-sellers  are  stationed,  and 
was  looking  at  the  floral  display  when  I  happened  to  turn 
round,  and  there,  only  ten  feet  distant,  were  my  professor,  M. 
Flamaran,  M.  Charnot,  and  Jeanne.  They  had  been  pur- 
chasing flowers  and  were  about  to  go.  I  saw  them  turn  to 
Vv'alk  toward  St.  Sulpice,  and  followed  at  a  distance,  but  soon 
lost  sight  of  them  in  the  crowd. 

Apil  2'jth.  The  beautiful  spring  is  here,  and  Lampron 
and  I  went  on  an  excursion  to  "our  forest,"  as  we  call  the  for- 
est of  St.  Germain.  We  walked  to  the  clear  pond  in  the  woods, 
and  Lampron  lay  down  to  take  a  nap.  While  I  was  silently 
contemplating  the  beauty  of  the  woodland  silence,  I  heard  dis- 
tant voices,  and  presently  saw  approaching  a  man,  and  a 
young  girl  dressed  in  gray.  I  felt  sure  that  the  young  girl  was 
she,  and  as  they  drew  nearer  I  saw  that  they  were  indeed  M. 
Charnot  and  his  lovely  daughter.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
Not  until  that  moment  did  I  realize  how  much  I  loved  her. 
Father  and  daughter  passed  on  without  seeing  us.  I  wakened 
Lampron,  and  as  he  was  curious  to  see  my  inamorata,  he  pro- 
posed that  we  catch  up  with  them.  After  a  brisk  run,  he  sig- 
naled me  from  behind  a  large  tree:    "Here  they  are!" 

Jeanne  and  M.  Charnot  were  seated  on  a  fallen  trunk. 
Lampron  immediately  began  to  sketch  the  pair.  In  his  en- 
thusiasm he  moved  and  attracted  Jeanne's  attention.  She 
turned  and  saw  that  I  was  looking  at  her,  and  Lampron  sketch- 
ing her.  We  bowed,  but  she  only  blushed,  and  smiled  a  faintly 
troubled  smile.  M.  Charnot  continued  reading,  but  it  was 
evident  that  his  daughter  was  not  listening.  Presently  they 
disappeared  down  the  path. 

April  2Sth,  9  p.m.  This  afternoon  I  met  Lampron  with  a 
portfolio  under  his  arm.  He  was  going  to  see  Monsieur  Plumet, 
the  frame-maker,  and  I  accompanied  him.  The  door  was 
opened  by  Madame  Plumet,  who  knew  me  slightly,  for  I  had 
given  her  legal  assistance,  for  which  I  had  made  no  charge. 


RENE   BAZIN  361 

M.  Plumet  said  he  was  overrun  with  orders  and  could  not 
frame  the  picture  then;  but  when  Lampron  told  him  that  it 
was  the  portrait  of  a  young  lady  with  whom  his  friend  was  in 
love,  and  that  his  whole  future  depended  upon  having  the 
picture  hung  in  the  approaching  exhibition  at  the  Salon,  M. 
Plumet  reconsidered  the  matter.  The  portfolio  was  opened, 
and  there  was  the  little  fmished  sketch  of  M.  Charnot's  back 
and  Jeanne's  pretty  profile  in  the  forest  nook!  I  remarked 
that  I  hoped  the  fair  subject  would  see  her  portrait  at  the  ex- 
hibition; whereupon  Madame  Plumet  inquired  her  name  and 
address,  which  I  gave.  Then  she  said  she  knew  the  wife  of  a 
porter  who  lived  near  the  Charnot  household,  and  that  through 
her,  on  some  manufactured  errand,  Jeanne  might  learn  that  her 
portrait  was  in  the  Salon. 

May  isL  These  four  days  just  past  seemed  as  if  they 
would  never  end,  but  to-day  Lampron  took  me  to  the  salon 
to  see  the  picture.  It  was  perfect!  As  soon  as  we  had  seen  it 
he  left  me  there  alone,  and  I  stood  somewhat  in  the  shadow 
near  by,  watching  for  Jeanne.  At  last  she  came.  She  looked 
at  the  picture  and  seemed  pleased;  then,  turning  her  head, 
she  saw  me!  She  blushed  and  was  almost  moved  to  tears. 
(O  rapture!  Jeanne,  you  are  touched;  Jeanne,  you  under- 
stand!) At  that  moment  someone  called,  and  she  hastened 
to  meet  her  father.  A  young  man  was  with  him,  who  spoke 
to  Jeanne,  and  I  heard  her  answer,  "It's  nothing,  George." 
Can  it  be  that  she  loves  another? 

May  2d.  This  morning,  after  being  examined  for  two 
hours,  I  received  my  degree.  At  the  law  school  to-day  I  met 
an  acquaintance  who  said  to  me: 

"  Do  you  know  that  Mademoiselle  Charnot  is  to  be  married 
soon?     She  is  to  marry  Dufilleul.     Don't  you  know  Dufilleul?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  He  is  always  to  be  seen  at  the  opera 
with  little  Tigra  of  the  Bouffes." 

"Poor  girl!  it  is  too  dreadful  to  see  an  innocent  child 
married  to  a  rake  and  gambler!" 

My  acquaintance  tried  to  assure  me  that  it  was  not  so  bad 
as  it  might  be,  for  Dufilleul  was  rich  and  of  a  distinguished 
family. 


362  THE  INK-STAIN 

Alas!  All  is  over  between  us!  She  has  given  me  no  en- 
couragement— only  a  smile,  a  tear. 

May  5//^.  A  letter  has  just  come  from  my  uncle,  M.  Mouil- 
lard.  He  is  very  angry  because  I  did  not  set  out  for  Bourges 
the  very  evening  of  the  day  I  took  my  degree,  to  begin  pro- 
fessional life,  where  his  practise  awaits  me.  I  know  he  will 
arrive  here  soon  in  order  to  take  me  home  with  him. 

May  gth.  This  evening  at  seven  o'clock,  just  as  I  was 
going  out  to  dinner,  I  saw  my  imcle  coming  toward  me.  We 
dined  together,  and  he  learned  my  secret,  and  also  how  hope- 
less was  my  love  for  Jeanne,  because  she  was  engaged  to  an- 
other. He  then  told  me  that  he  did  not  wish  me  to  bring  home 
any  Parisian  wife. 

May  10th.  My  uncle  is  very  angry  because  I  will  not  re- 
turn with  him  at  once  to  Bourges.  He  told  me  that  he  was 
determined  to  find  out  whether  Jeanne  were  really  engaged  or 
not,  and  that  he  had  called  on  her  father.  M.  Charnot  re- 
membered having  seen  me  once  at  the  Library,  and  once  at 
his  own  house,  and  was  good  enough  to  say  that  I  was  a  youth 
of  parts.  When  my  uncle  told  him  of  my  love  for  Jeanne,  he 
replied  that  her  hand  had  already  been  promised.  My  uncle 
finished  his  disconcerting  remarks  by  urging  me  to  start  with 
him  to-night  for  Bourges.  I  promptly  refused  to  go,  and  re- 
proached him  for  having  told  a  secret  that  was  not  his  to  tell; 
I  said  also  that  it  would  be  better  for  both  of  us  for  me  to  con- 
tinue to  live  in  Paris,  away  from  him.  He  was  furious,  and 
reminded  me  that  I  could  not  live  in  Paris  on  an  income  of 
fourteen  hundred  francs  a  year.  He  then  left  without  saying 
good-by  and  hurried  down  the  stairs,  striking  the  banisters  with 
his  cane  and  exclaiming,  "Damnation!" 

May  20th.  My  time  is  all  my  own  and  I  enjoy  my  freedom. 
I  was  brought  up  with  the  idea  that  I  was  to  become  a  lawyer, 
but  I  am  convinced  that  nothing  spoils  the  nobler  virtues  more 
quickly  than  practise  at  the  bar. 

I  have  confided  everything  to  Lampron,  who,  although  glad 
to  have  me  remain  in  Paris,  warned  me  that  it  was  "easy 
to  refuse  a  profession,  harder  to  find  another  in  its  place." 

June  jth.  The  die  is  cast!  I  will  not  be  a  lawyer,  and  I 
wrote  my  uncle  a  calm,  polite  letter  to  that  effect. 


RENE   BAZIN  363 

I  realize  ihat  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  live  on  fourteen  hun- 
dred francs  a  year,  and  so,  until  something  better  offers  itself, 
I  have  accepted  the  position  of  managing  clerk  to  my  old 
master,  Counselor  Boule.  I  correct  the  drafts  of  the  inferior 
clerks,  instruct  the  clients  how  to  proceed,  go  to  the  courts 
nearly  every  day,  and  hang  about  chief  clerks'  and  judges' 
chambers. 

One  day  Madame  Plumet  called  at  our  office  on  business. 
She  was  surprised  to  find  me  there.  She  told  me  that  she  had 
opened  a  dressmaking  establishment,  and  that  Mademoiselle 
Charnot  had  her  gowns  made  there.  Then  I  told  her  that 
Mademoiselle  Charnot  was  about  to  be  married  to  Baron  Dufil- 
leul.  At  this  news  Madame  Plumet  became  very  indignant. 
She  said  that  he  was  a  dreadful  man,  and  that  she  knew  all 
sorts  of  scandalous  things  about  him.  She  would  not  talk 
about  her  own  business  after  that,  for  she  said  that  what  she 
had  heard  had  made  her  so  unhappy  she  had  forgotten  it. 

June  10th.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Italy,  sent  there  at  a  client's 
expense  to  prove  some  copies  of  deeds.  I  am  allowed  two 
weeks  for  the  trip. 

Milan,  June  iSth.  The  heat  is  wilting,  and,  surrounded  by 
clerks,  I  am  working  in  the  Municipal  Palace,  in  the  midst  of 
countless  numbers  of  documents. 

A  letter  has  just  come  from  Lampron.  He  writes  me  that 
my  rival.  Baron  Dufilleul,  has  had  his  miniature  painted  for 
Mademoisehe  Tigra  of  the  Bouffes.  He  left  it  at  Plumet's  to 
be  framed,  and  when  he  called  for  it  and  was  holding  it  in  his 
hand,  admiring  it,  Jeanne  walked  in.  As  soon  as  she  saw 
Dufilleul,  she  exclaimed: 

''Well,  sir,  and  so  I've  caught  you!  What  are  you  hiding 
there?     Hand  me  that  portrait.     Was  it  not  intended  for  me?" 

Dufilleul  explained  in  a  halting  way  that  it  was  intended 
for  a  wedding-present  to  a  friend.  Jeanne  did  not  believe  this 
and  so  she  asked  Plumet  what  he  knew  about  it.  At  this  junc- 
ture Madame  Plumet  interrupted: 

"Excuse  me,  Mademoiselle,  but  I  cannot  have  you  de- 
ceived in  this  house.  This  portrait  is  for  an  actress — for 
Mademoiselle  Tigra  of  the  Opera  Bouffes." 

Mademoiselle  Jeanne  then  turned  the  miniature  over,  and 


364  THE   INK-STAIN 

read  on  the  back :  "  From  Monsieur  le  Baron  D.  to  Mademoiselle 
T. — Boulevard  Haussmann.    To  be  delivered  on  Tuesday," 

Dufilleul  declared  it  was  not  his  handwriting,  that  it  was 
some  vile  conspiracy  against  him,  and  so  on.  But  Jeanne  was 
not  pacified,  and  suddenly  left  the  room.  On  the  stairway 
she  heard  a  high-pitched  voice  calling:  "Well,  George,  how 
much  longer  are  you  going  to  keep  me  waiting?" 

Mademoiselle  Charnot  bent  over,  and  saw,  at  the  bottom 
of  the  staircase,  a  woman  looking  up.  Their  eyes  met.  Jeanne 
at  once  looked  in  another  direction.  Then  she  called  to  Madame 
Plumet,  "  Come,  Madame,  we  must  go  and  choose  a  hat,"  and 
closed  the  dressmaker's  door  behind  her. 

Madame  Plumet  herself  had  recounted  this  scene  to  him, 
and  it  was  she  who  had  arranged  this  meeting  of  Jeanne  and 
her  lover.  Lampron  thinks  that  the  betrothal  is  definitely  at 
an  end.  He  says  that  just  as  he  was  closing  the  letter  a  note 
came  from  Madame  Plumet  informing  him  that  M.  Charnot 
and  his  daughter  had  left  Paris,  though  she  did  not  know  where 
they  had  gone.     Lampron  says  also  that  his  mother  is  very  ill. 

Milan,  June  26th.  My  law  business  here  is  over  to-day, 
and  now  comes  another  letter  from  Lampron.  His  mother  is 
dead.  She  made  him  promise  to  give  the  portrait  of  the  young 
Italian  girl  he  loved  to  her  family,  and  he  asks  me  in  this 
letter  to  visit  them  at  their  residence,  the  Villa  Dannegianti, 
about  nine  miles  from  Milan,  near  the  village  of  Desio,  and  to 
tell  them  that,  "in  accordance  with  the  dying  wish  of  Lam- 
pron's  mother,  the  portrait  of  Rafaella  is  to  be  given  in  per- 
petuity to  the  Villa  Dannegianti." 

I  received  this  letter  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
at  once  took  a  carriage  for  Desio,  where  I  stopped  at  the  inn. 
I  heard  in  the  next  room  someone  talking  about  a  collection  of 
valuable  Roman  coins  which  was  kept  locked  up  in  the  villa  of 
an  Italian  nobleman  near  by;  and  as  I  peeped  in  at  the  open 
door  I  saw  M.  Charnot  and  Jeanne!  They  were  very  much 
surprised  to  see  me,  and  we  stood  and  stared  at  one  another  to 
make  sure  we  were  not  dreaming.  Then  M.  Charnot,  who 
did  not  seem  very  much  pleased  at  seeing  me,  told  the  blushing 
Jeanne  to  put  on  her  hat,  for  it  was  time  to  go.  Turning  to  me, 
he  made  a  few  remarks  concerning  the  inn,  and  was  about  to 


RENE   BAZIN  365 

depart,  when  I  inquired  whether  he  could  tell  me  the  way  to 
the  Villa  Danncgianti.  M.  Charnot  laughed,  and  said  that  he 
had  not  been  able  to  gain  admission  there,  although  he  had 
two  letters  of  introduction  and  honorable  initials  after  his 
name;  he  added  that  he  was  certain  I  would  not  meet  with 
success.  But  I  begged  him  to  stay,  telling  him  that,  as  I  bore 
news  of  great  importance  to  the  family,  I  was  not  only  sure  of 
being  admitted  myself,  but  thought  I  could  obtain  permission 
for  him  to  see  the  valuable  collection  of  medals  in  the  villa. 
The  old  man  was  delighted  at  the  prospect;  and  so  M.  Char- 
not,  his  daughter,  and  I  left  the  inn  together. 

After  walking  a  mile  we  arrived  at  the  villa,  and  I  presented 
my  card  and  Lampron's.  The  gates  were  opened  and  we 
passed  in.  M.  Charnot  and  Jeanne  waited  outside  the  house 
until  I  could  gain  permission  for  them  to  view  the  collection, 
and  I  entered  and  was  shown  to  the  room  in  which  the  Countess 
was  seated.  She  was  overpowered  with  emotion  when  she 
heard  that  she  was  to  have  the  long-wished-for  portrait  of  her 
daughter.  I  then  obtained  permission  for  M.  Charnot  and 
Jeanne  to  see  the  medals.  A  moment  later  they  entered  the 
museum  with  me.  Jeanne  and  I  talked  together  while  her 
father  looked  at  the  medals.  When  we  had  finished  it  was 
after  eight  o'clock  and  the  last  train  had  left  Desio;  so  I  sug- 
gested that  rather  than  stay  all  night  at  an  uncomfortable  inn, 
it  would  be  better  for  them  to  drive  back  to  Milan  with  me  in 
my  carriage.  To  this  M.  Charnot  assented.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful moonlight  night  and  the  learned  man,  tired  with  all  he  had 
seen,  soon  went  to  sleep  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage.  For  a 
time  I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  Jeanne,  for  our  isolation  made  me 
ill  at  ease.  She,  too,  seemed  far  away  in  dreamland.  But 
after  a  while  we  began  to  talk,  and  the  conversation  drifted  to 
the  portrait  of  Jeanne  that  Lampron  had  sketched,  which  I 
said  was  a  similar  rehc  to  the  portrait  of  Rafaella  I  had  just 
told  her  about,  except  that  I  dared  to  think  that  I  might  be  less 
unfortunate  than  my  friend — that  my  dream  might  return  to 
me  if  the  original  of  this  portrait  were  willing! 

Jeanne  fixed  her  eyes  on  me.  Then  she  asked  whether  I 
did  not  think  the  breeze  refreshing.  At  that  moment  her  father 
awoke  and  made  an  appropriate  reply. 


366  THE  INK-STAIN 

Ten  minutes  later  the  carriage  drove  up  to  his  hotel.  He 
thanked  me  for  a  most  delightful  drive  home,  hoped  we  should 
meet  again,  and  told  me  that  he  and  his  daughter  were  going 
to  Florence  the  next  day.  Mademoiselle  Charnot  bowed 
slightly  in  farewell. 

Milan,  June  2yth,  before  daybreak.  I  have  spent  the  night 
thinking  of  yesterday's  trip.  Shall  I  follow  them  to  Florence? 
On  second  thought,  I  have  decided  not  to  go  to  Florence, 
but  to  return  to  Paris. 

Paris,  July  2d.  A  clerk  at  the  office  asked  me  to  go  fish- 
ing with  him  on  Sunday,  and  on  our  arrival  at  the  place  I 
found  my  old  professor,  M.  Flamaran,  much  to  my  surprise. 

While  we  were  fishing  together,  he  questioned  me  about  my 
love  for  Jeanne.  He  said  he  had  known  her  all  her  life,  and 
that  he  was  very  anxious  when  he  learned  that  she  was  to  marry 
"that  scoundrel  DufiUeul." 

After  the  day's  fishing  was  over  we  went  to  a  restaurant  for 
supper,  and  then  my  kind  friend,  M.  Flamaran,  volunteered 
to  go  to  Jeanne's  father  and  ask  her  hand  for  me. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "let  us  talk,  and  tell  me  everything."  He 
has  a  warm,  good  heart,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  anyone  can  do 
this  for  me  successfully  it  is  he. 

August  2d.  After  waiting  ten  days,  I  received  a  note  yes- 
terday from  M.  Charnot  asking  me  to  call  on  him  that  evening. 
I  went  in  a  great  state  of  trepidation. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  receive  you  as  a  friend.  What- 
ever may  be  the  result  of  our  interview,  you  may  be  assured 
of  my  esteem,  therefore  have  no  fear  of  answering  me 
frankly." 

After  questioning  me  about  my  parents  and  my  early  life, 
he  said: 

"Young  man,  I  promised  you  an  answer;  this  is  it.  My 
daughter  has  at  this  moment  several  proposals  of  marriage. 
She  has  weighed  and  compared  them  all,  and  communicated  to 
me  yesterday  the  result  of  her  reflections.  To  a  richer  and 
more  brilliant  match  she  prefers  an  honest  man  who  loves  her 
for  herself,  and  you.  Monsieur,  are  that  honest  man.  But 
there  are  two  conditions :  one  is  that  you  promise  never  to  leave 
Paris,  and  the  other  is  that  you  make  peace  with  your  uncle." 


RENE   BAZIN  367 

I  promised  the  former,  and  said  that  I  would  do  all  in  my 
power  to  effect  the  latter. 

M.  Charnot  was  very  pale.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  me 
and  said:  "I  think,  Monsieur  Fabien,  that  we  are  quite  in 
accord,  and  that  the  hour  has  come — " 

Instead  of  finishing  the  sentence,  he  opened  the  door  and 
said:  "Jeanne,  Monsieur  Fabien  accepts  the  two  conditions, 
my  dear." 

And  I  saw  Jeanne  come  smiling  toward  me ! 

My  rapture  was  complete.  We  sat  together  all  the  evening; 
M.  Charnot  pushed  back  his  chair  and  tried  to  read  the  news- 
paper; Jeanne  and  I  formed  plans  for  pacifying  my  imcle,  and 
Jeanne  settled  the  matter  by  making  her  father  promise  to  take 
her  to  Bourges,  where  an  old  friend  of  theirs  lived,  saying  that 
while  there  M.  Charnot  could  return  my  uncle's  call  upon  him, 
and  somehow  patch  up  the  breach,  if  possible. 

August  3 J.  I  am  to  go  to  Bourges  in  advance  to  choose 
rooms  for  M.  Charnot  and  Jeanne;  I  shall  try  to  see  my  uncle 
first,  and  tell  him  that  M.  Charnot  and  his  daughter  are  travel- 
ing in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  if  they  happen  to  be  near 
Bourges  they  will  probably  return  his  visit. 

Bourges,  August  4th.  I  called  at  my  uncle's  house  to-day. 
Formerly  he  welcomed  me,  but  now  I  am  averse  to  meeting  him, 
and  the  housekeeper  is  afraid  to  let  me  in.  My  imcle  was  not 
at  home,  nevertheless  I  went  in  and  sat  down  to  talk  to  the 
housekeeper,  who  told  me  that  my  uncle  is  greatly  changed. 
She  said  that  he  had  been  very  moody  ever  since  his  re- 
turn from  Paris.  I  told  her  of  my  engagement  and  said 
that  I  had  come  hoping  to  effect  a  reconciliation  with  him. 
At  this  she  only  shook  her  head,  but  promised  to  conceal 
me  in  the  house  over  night,  and  to  let  me  know  when  my 
uncle  was  in  a  sufficiently  amiable  frame  of  mind  to  be  ap- 
proached. 

I  passed  the  night  on  the  sofa-bed  in  the  library  on  the 
first  floor. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  I  saw  my  uncle  coming  into 
the  house.  He  went  into  the  dining-room,  which  was  under 
the  library.  Just  as  he  had  finished  dinner  a  gentleman  called, 
and  I  could  hear  them  talking  together  excitedly  and  even 


368  THE   INK-STAIN 

angrily  for  three  hours.  At  eleven  o'clock  I  heard  my  uncle's 
heavy  tread  as  he  went  up-stairs  to  his  room. 

Bourges,  August  ^th.  I  arose  at  seven  o'clock,  hoping  to 
see  my  uncle,  but  learned  that  he  had  gone  out  at  six,  which 
was  very  unusual.  The  housekeeper  says  he  has  been  weep- 
ing, and  she  thinks  it  is  on  account  of  the  visitor  of  last  night, 
with  whom  he  was  negotiating  for  the  sale  of  his  practise. 
She  told  me  also  that  when  he  bade  her  good  night  he  had  said : 
"I  am  a  broken-hearted  man!  I  might  have  got  over  it,  but 
that  monster  of  ingratitude  would  not  have  it  so.  If  I  had  him 
here  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  to  him."  This  gave  me 
no  little  compunction  and  anxiety. 

M.  Charnot  and  Jeanne  are  to  be  here  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
I  must  go  to  meet  them  without  having  seen  my  uncle. 

The  train  arrived,  and  M.  Charnot,  Jeanne,  and  I  stood 
before  the  garden  gate,  to  which  I  have  the  key.  Just  as  I 
turned  it  in  the  lock,  I  beheld  my  uncle  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  felt  exceedingly  nervous. 
He  had  reached  his  front  door  when  he  perceived  two  strangers 
coming  toward  him  (I  had  hidden  behind  the  shrubbery).  He 
recognized  M.  Charnot,  was  surprised  to  see  Mademoiselle 
Jeanne.  After  a  few  civilities  had  been  exchanged,  M.  Charnot 
told  my  uncle  that  Jeanne  was  to  marry  his  nephew,  to  which 
my  uncle  replied : 

"Monsieur,  I  have  no  longer  a  nephew." 

"He  is  here." 

"And  I  never  asked  for  your  daughter." 

"No,  but  you  have  received  your  nephew  beneath  your 
roof,  and  consequently — " 

"Never!" 

"Monsieur  Fabien  has  been  in  your  house  since  yesterday; 
he  told  you  we  were  coming." 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  him;  I  never  should  have  received 
him!  I  tell  you  I  no  longer  have  a  nephew!  I  am  a  broken- 
hearted man,  a — a — a — " 

He  staggered,  fell,  and  lay  motionless  on  his  back. 

I  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and  Jeanne  dipped  her  handkerchief 
in  water  to  bathe  his  brow.     M.  Charnot  and  I  carried  him  up 


RENE   BAZIN  369 

to  his  room,  and  he  lay  there  unconscious  for  ten  minutes. 
Just  as  the  doctor  opened  the  door,  my  uncle  opened  his  eyes, 
and  his  glance  rested  on  Jeanne.  "Come,"  said  the  doctor, 
"give  your  future  niece  a  kiss."  Jeanne  bent  down  and  my 
uncle  kissed  her,  saying,  "Good  girl — dear  girl  I" 

He  began  to  weep,  and  we  were  ordered  to  leave  him  alone. 

In  a  few  moments,  much  to  our  surprise,  down  came  my 
uncle  and  invited  us  all  to  dine  with  him  that  night,  though  he 
did  not  seem  quite  reconciled  to  me;  so  Jeanne  and  I  each 
wrote  him  a  kind  and  affectionate  letter,  begging  him  to  forgive 
us,  and  to  consent  to  our  marriage. 

At  dinner  that  night  my  uncle  tried  his  best  to  be  agreeable, 
but  suddenly  at  dessert  he  said:  "I  have  a  painful  confession 
to  make  to  you."  Then  he  told  us  that  he  had  sold  his  practise 
the  night  before,  and  he  feared  now  that  I  wanted  it.  But  I 
assured  him  that  I  would  not  have  taken  the  practise  even  if 
he  had  not  sold  it.  Then  M.  Charnot  said  that  Jeanne  would 
always  have  sufficient  money  for  us  both,  but  that  he  preferred 
his  son-in-law  to  have  some  occupation,  so  he  suggested  that  I 
should  become  a  librarian. 

My  uncle  looked  sad  at  this,  for,  as  he  said,  he  would  often 
feel  very  desolate,  living  all  alone.  "  Oh,  no,"  said  M.  Charnot, 
"come  to  Paris,  and  live  with  us." 

Paris,  September  i8lh.  We  are  married!  We  have  just 
come  back  from  the  church,  and  in  two  hours  we  shall  leave 
for  Italy  on  our  wedding- trip;  so  I  am  writing  these  few  last 
words  in  my  diary. 

Uncle  Mouillard  has  arrived  in  Paris;  he  is  to  live  near  us, 
and  he  and  M.  Charnot  have  become  devoted  friends. 

Jeanne,  my  own  dear  Jeanne,  is  leaning  on  me  and  reading 
over  my  shoulder,  which  distracts  the  flow  of  my  recollections. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Jeanne,  I  will  cherish  no  ambition  be- 
yond your  love;  and  if  you  agree,  Jeanne,  we  shall  see  little  of 
society,  and  much  of  our  friends;  we  shall  not  open  our  win- 
dows wide  enough  for  love,  who  is  winged,  to  fly  out.  I  shall 
leave  you  to  guide  me,  as  a  child,  along  the  joyous  path  in 
which  I  follow  your  footsteps." 

I  am  looking  up  at  Jeanne. 

She  has  not  said  "No." 
A.D.,  VOL.  11. — 24 


FRANCES  COURTENAY  BAYLOR 

(United  States,  1848) 
ON   BOTH  SIDES   (1886) 

This  was  its  author's  first  book,  and  it  immediately  established  her  reputa- 
tion as  a  writer  of  vivid  and  finished  style.  At  the  time  of  its  publication  no 
piece  of  fiction  had  so  well  presented  the  differences  in  Enghsh  and  American 
character,  manners  and  social  creeds. 

\ATE  in  the  autumn  of  1873,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Fletcher,  wealthy  and  refined  Americans,  re- 
turned to  England  after  an  extended  tour  on 
the  Continent  and  decided  to  spend  the  winter 
in  Cheltenham,  one  of  the  gayest  and  most  agree- 
able of  the  English  watering-places. 

Mr.  Fletcher  was  obliged  to  "run  over  to 
New  York  "  to  put  his  affairs  upon  a  footing 
that  would  permit  him  to  prolong  his  remain 
abroad  for  another  year;  but  during  her  husband's  absence 
Mrs.  Fletcher  was  not  forced  to  languish  alone.  She  had  for 
company  a  rather  low-spirited  mother-in-law,  a  cheerful  sister, 
named  Lucy,  and  a  pretty  and  accomplished  cousin,  named 
Jenny  Meredith,  all  of  whom  had  been  compagnons  de  voyage 
of  her  husband  and  herself.  Mr.  Fletcher  was  a  typical  Amer- 
ican husband,  "who  ought  always  to  be  painted  with  a  nimbus 
about  his  head."  This  good  soul  is  seldom  allowed  to  travel 
abroad  with  only  the  wife  of  his  bosom  for  his  companion;  for 
when  a  trip  is  decided  upon,  and  the  plan  is  unfolded  to  their 
joint  families,  the  news  is  usually  responded  to  in  this  wise: 

"How  perfectly  splendid!  It  would  be  so  nice  for  Sister 
Lucy  to  go";  or  "Kate  has  a  wonderful  voice,  which  must  be 
cultivated";  or  "Mother  has  always  wanted  to  go  abroad"; 
or  "  Jack  ought  really  to  be  sent  to  Heidelberg." 

370 


FRANCES   COURTENAY   BAYLOR  371 

And  consequently  the  American  husband,  after  one  or  two 
feeble  remonstrances,  sails  on  the  Scythia  or  the  Russia,  with 
a  full  complement  of  petticoated  barnacles,  and  wears  his  neck- 
lace of  millstones  ever  after  with  the  beautiful  unconscious 
grace  of  the  hero  and  none  of  the  airs  of  a  martyr;  and  hosts 
of  foreigners  hold  up  their  hands  and  puzzle  their  heads  over 
the  strange  spectacle. 

Before  leaving  his  family,  Mr.  Fletcher  ensconced  them  com- 
fortably in  a  furnished  house  on  the  Promenade.  The  estab- 
lishment was  perfect  in  every  detail,  provided  with  every  luxury 
and  comfort,  and  included  a  staff  of  well-trained  servants  as 
noiseless  as  the  white  cats  of  the  fairy-tale. 

First  and  most  important  of  these  was  Walton,  the  butler, 
whose  dignified  air  and  impressive  manner  completely  awed 
the  newcomers. 

"I  am  glad  I  am  going  home,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher,  "instead 
of  staying  here  in  the  trying  role  of  master  to  that  very 
superior  domestic,  Walton.  I  couldn't  do  it;  he  would  find 
me  out  in  a  week.  I  should  never  dare  to  be  helped  thrice  to 
anything,  unless  it  was  'cold  boiled  missionary,'  of  which  he 
might  approve,  for  he  looks  like  an  archbishop.  I  felt  that  he 
was  my  master  the  moment  he  took  my  overcoat  down-stairs. 
I  lost  confidence  in  my  tailor  on  the  spot.  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
come  home  from  school  for  the  holidays,  or  had  done  something 
that  I  could  atone  for  only  by  assuming  an  apologetic  attitude 
and  entering  upon  a  course  of  systematic  propitiation." 

"Nonsense,  Ned!  how  absurd  you  are!"  exclaimed  his 
wife.  "Besides,  he  who  propitiates  under  such  circumstances 
is  lost." 

"  Oh,  you  may  be  sure  I  didn't  give  way  to  the  impulse.  I 
frowned,  and  looked  as  if  my  temper  were  bad,  and  got  up- 
stairs as  soon  as  possible.  I  shouldn't  in  the  least  mind  meet- 
ing the  Prince  of  Wales,  or  the  Lord  Chancellor;  but  there  is 
something  inexpressibly  awe-inspiring  about  the  British  flunky. 
Deny  it  as  we  may,  very  few  Americans  can  honestly  say  that 
they  feel  themselves  a  match  for  the  majestic,  inscrutable 
creature." 

In  the  course  of  the  following  week  the  Fletchers  presented 
their  letters  of  introduction  to  two  influential  families,  and  were 


372  ON   BOTH   SIDES 

received  with  the  kindness  which  characterizes  Enghsh  hos- 
pitaUty. 

Invitations  to  functions  of  every  sort  poured  in  upon  them, 
and  Wahon  was  kept  busy  "shuffling  cards"  for  several  weeks. 

As  a  family  they  met  with  general  favor,  and  the  two  girls 
became  immediately  very  popular,  Jenny  creating  a  furor  with 
her  beauty  and  accomplishments. 

Among  their  new  friends  were  Sir  Robert  Heathcote,  a  well- 
preserved  man  of  sixty-five,  with  the  prosperous  air  which  an 
inherited  income  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  never  fails  to 
impart,  and  his  nephew  and  heir,  Arthur  Heathcote.  The 
latter  was  an  extremely  good-looking  young  fellow  of  the  con- 
ventional London  type,  knowing  full  well  his  advantages  as  a 
bon  parti  and  prepared  not  to  be  taken  alive  by  any  matron  in 
the  land,  be  she  never  so  skilful.  Another  friend  was  a  quiet 
young  barrister  named  Lindsay,  who  became  an  admirer  of  the 
fascinating  Jenny,  while  an  important  factor  in  their  circle  was 
a  sweet  and  gentle  little  English  girl  named  Mabel  Vane. 

Mabel,  whose  father  was  a  poor  clergyman,  lived  very 
quietly  and  economically  with  her  mother  in  lodgings,  and,  in 
spite  of  being  well  connected,  saw  very  little  of  the  gay  world 
of  society. 

Lucy  and  Jenny,  having  taken  an  especial  fancy  to  Mabel, 
decided  to  do  what  they  could  to  bring  a  little  more  pleasure 
into  her  quiet  existence,  which  they  considered  "a  case  of  des- 
titution in  the  upper  classes." 

The  Fletchers  received  cards  for  a  very  exclusive  ball,  and 
though  the  invitations  were  very  difficult  to  obtain,  they  suc- 
ceeded in  securing  an  extra  one  for  Mabel,  who  was  overjoyed 
at  the  prospect  of  attending  so  grand  a  function.  Before  the 
evening  in  question  the  Fletchers  were  surprised  by  an  arrival 
from  the  homeland,  who  was  announced  by  Walton  in  an  in- 
tensely respectful  manner. 

"If  you  please,  'm,  there  is  a  party"  (here  he  coughed  dis- 
creetly behind  his  hand),  "a  person  describin'  himself  as  a 
relative  of  the  family — from  America,  which  I  was  to  say  the 
name  is  Ketchum — Mr.  Job  Ketchum  is  what  I  was  told." 

Walton  made  little  pauses  between  his  clauses.  He  felt 
that  he  was  impressive.     Having  finished,  he  cast  one  swift 


FRANCES   COURTENAY   BAYLOR  373 

glance  around  the  grouj),  caressed  thoughtfully  his  luxuriant 
side-whiskers,  and  dropped  his  eyes  again,  waiting  for  orders. 

"Job  Ketchum!"  cried  Mrs.  Fletcher,  senior,  in  a  tone  of 
horrified  amazement. 

"Cousin  Job!"  echoed  her  daughter-in-law  feebly.  "What 
on  earth" — can  have  brought  him  here?  she  was  about  to  say, 
but,  catching  Walton's  deferential  eye,  she  changed  it  into — 
"can  have  prevented  his  telegraphing  or  writing  us  to  expect 
him?"  After  greeting  as  cordially  as  possible  the  newcomer, 
who  proved  to  be  a  cousin  from  the  wild  and  woolly  West, 
Mrs.  Fletcher  asked  him  where  his  luggage  was,  as  she  took  it 
for  granted  he  would  remain  with  them. 

"That's  all  the  luggage  I've  brought,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
a  shiny  black  portmanteau  on  the  hall  floor.  "I  didn't  want 
to  bother  with  more,  just  for  a  flying  trip.  I  knew  I  could 
rig  myself  out  over  here  if  I  needed  anything;  but  I  guess  I'll 
do  as  I  am.  When  did  you  hear  from  your  husband?"  he 
continued,  mounting  the  stairs  as  he  spoke.  Then  over  his 
shoulder  to  Walton:  "Here!  bring  that  along  up  to  my  room, 
and  get  me  some  water." 

The  ladies  winced  at  this  peremptory  way  of  addressing 
"the  archbishop,"  and  were  prepared  for  a  revolt;  but  Walton 
said,  with  his  usual  respectful  air,  "Yes,  sir.  At  once,  sir," 
and,  seizing  the  bag,  disappeared  into  the  back  premises. 

When  Mr.  Job  Ketchum  rejoined  his  relatives  in  the  draw- 
ing-room he  entertained  them  with  a  vivacious  account  of  his 
experiences.  He  explained  that  he  had  recently  prospered  in 
business,  having  made  "a  hundred  thousand  dollars  at  a  clip," 
and  had  decided  to  leave  Tecumseh,  Michigan,  and  go  "  abrard," 
to  see  whether  there  was  anything  there  worth  seeing. 

Mrs.  Fletcher  tried  in  a  tactful  way  to  show  Mr.  Ketchum 
that  his  wardrobe  would  need  replenishing  to  meet  the  require- 
ments of  his  present  position ;  but  he  did  not  take  kindly  to  her 
suggestions,  and  he  finally  lost  his  temper  and  said  hotly :  "  Damn 
it!    I  am  an  American,  and  I  shall  do  as  I  please." 

This  outburst  was  rapidly  repented  of,  and  Job  apologized 
handsomely  and  agreed  to  go  to  a  tailor  the  following  morning 
to  be  fitted  out  in  a  suitable  manner. 

Job,  on  meeting  Mabel  Vane,  was  greatly  taken  with  her 


374  ON  BOTH   SIDES 

pretty  face  and  gentle  ways,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  aid  the  Fletchers  in  giving  her  a  good  time  at  the  ball. 
When  the  night  arrived  he  sent  her  a  huge  bouquet,  and  he  also 
loaded  her  with  attentions  at  the  ball. 

Mabel,  who  had  had  little  experience  with  the  other  sex, 
was  much  pleased  with  Job's  attentions  and  he  was  entirely 
captivated  by  the  "little  English  daisy,"  and  decided  to  make 
every  effort  to  win  her  for  his  wife. 

Under  Job's  rough  exterior  was  a  warm  and  generous  heart, 
and  his  kindly  nature  and  sterling  character  were  recognized 
by  all  those  that  really  knew  him. 

As  Job's  attentions  to  Mabel  became  more  and  more  marked, 
Mrs.  Vane,  who  was  a  weak  and  worldly  woman,  decided  that 
it  was  time  to  ask  him  what  were  his  intentions. 

A  characteristic  interview  took  place  between  her  and  Job, 
in  which  the  latter,  who  saw  plainly  through  the  mother's 
apparent  solicitude  for  her  daughter's  welfare,  got  very  much 
the  better  of  the  situation.  Before  closing  the  interview,  Mrs. 
Vane  remarked  to  Job  that  he  had  done  her  daughter  a  great 
wrong,  had  blighted  her  future  and  kept  off  other  men. 

To  which  Job  replied:  " I  don't  want  to  crowd  the  mourners; 
if  she  wants  any  fellow  to  take  my  place,  I'm  ready  to  take  a 
back  seat." 

This  act  did  not  prove  necessary,  as  Mabel  wholly  recipro- 
cated Job's  affection,  and  he  and  she  were  soon  happily  married. 
After  the  wedding  Job  made  such  large  settlements  on  his 
blushing  bride  that  she  was  quite  overcome  by  his  generosity, 
and  Mrs.  Vane  also  was  handsomely  provided  for. 

During  Job's  courtship  the  Fletchers  had  continued  their 
enjoyable  experiences,  which  terminated  abruptly  with  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Fletcher  with  the  tidings  that  it  was  necessary 
for  them  all  to  return  home  at  once. 

They  packed  up  immediately,  much  to  the  regret  of  their 
many  friends;  and  Arthur  Heathcote  would  not  be  satisfied 
with  Jenny's  refusal  of  his  repeated  offers  until  at  last  she 
confessed  that  somebody  else  was  waiting  for  her  in  New  York. 

Mrs.  Fletcher's  greatest  regret  in  breaking  up  her  English 
establishment  was  the  parting  with  Walton,  her  "perfect 
treasure."     Throughout  her  housekeeping  experiences  he  had 


FRANCES   COURTENAY   BAYLOR  375 

been  her  right-hand  man  on  every  occasion,  and  had  made 
himself  absolutely  invaluable. 

Even  their  packing  could  never  have  been  accomplished 
without  Walton's  efficient  services.  He  ordered,  selected,  and 
packed  with  incomparable  judgment  and  despatch  the  Fletchers' 
personal  effects,  verified  the  inventory  of  the  house  and  replaced 
what  was  missing,  took  notes,  left  cards,  and  did  a  thousand 
last  things,  as  no  one  else  could  have  done  them.  Mr.  Fletcher 
was  so  charmed  that  he  offered  him  a  large  advance  on  his 
wages  if  he  would  go  to  the  United  States  with  them,  but  he 
respectfully  refused,  with  many  expressions  of  gratitude  for  the 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held. 

"What  do  you  think  of  doing,  Walton?"  asked  Mrs. 
Fletcher. 

"I'm  going  abroad,  'm;  I  have  heard  of  something  there 
that  will  suit,"  he  replied,  and  they  reluctantly  forbore  to  press 
him  further  about  remaining  in  their  service. 

When  they  finally  tore  themselves  away  from  the  charming 
town  in  which  they  had  grown  to  feel  at  home,  and  where  they 
had  received  great  kindness  and  hospitality,  Walton  accom- 
panied them  as  far  as  Liyerpool,  was  useful  up  to  the  last 
moment,  and  went  down  the  Mersey  with  them  in  the  tug,  in 
charge  of  their  smaller  pieces  of  luggage,  and  especially  of  one 
dressing-bag  of  Mrs.  Fletcher's  that  contained  several  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  diamonds  and  a  quantity  of  other  valuables. 
Each  member  of  the  party  tipped  him  handsomely,  and  parted 
from  him  with  effusion — almost  tearfully,  indeed,  knowing  that 
they  should  ne'er  look  upon  his  like  again  until  they  returned 
to  Europe.  As  he  was  stepping  on  the  tug,  Mr.  Fletcher  said 
to  him: 

"What  did  you  do  with  that  bag— the  bag,  Walton?" 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Fletcher." 

"Oh,  all  right!     Good-by,  again!" 

Ten  minutes  before,  Mrs.  Fletcher  had  made  the  same  in- 
quiry, and  he  had  made  the  same  response,  except  that — in  the 
confusion  of  the  moment,  doubtless — he  had  substituted  Mr. 
for  Mrs.  Fletcher.  When  they  were  well  out  to  sea,  Kate  asked 
her  husband  what  he  had  done  with  her  bag,  and,  after  a  long 
discussion,  ending  in  a  quarrel,  they  concluded  that  there  had 


376  ON   BOTH   SIDES 

been  some  dreadful  mistake,  which  Walton  would  be  sure  to 
rectify,  and  that  they  must  telegraph  as  soon  as  they  reached 
New  York. 

Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  the  Fletchers  never  got  back  that 
bag?  and,  after  much  telegraphing  and  writing  and  the  employ- 
ment of  the  best  detective  talent,  they  traced  Walton  only  as 
far  as  Spain  and  found  that  the  dignified,  able,  incomparable 
"perfect  treasure"  was  a  ticket-of-leave  man!  Before  entering 
the  Fletchers'  service  he  had  been  for  two  years  in  the  service 
of  an  English  ofiicer,  who  thought  as  highly  of  him  as  they  had. 

"I  shall  never  get  over  it,  never!"  exclaimed  Jenny.  "The 
foundations  of  society  are  completely  broken  up  for  me.  I 
wouldn't  trust  Cardinal  Newman  now,  or  Mr.  Gladstone,  or 
Charles  Francis  Adams!" 

Five  years  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Job  Ketchum,  settled  in  their 
luxurious  home  in  Kalsing,  Michigan,  received  word  that  their 
English  friend.  Sir  Robert  Heathcote,  was  soon  to  make  a  tour 
of  the  United  States,  accompanied  by  several  traveling  com- 
panions. In  his  party,  besides  his  nephew  and  his  niece,  Ethel, 
were  his  sister,  Miss  Noel,  Mrs.  Sykes,  who  had  attached  her- 
self to  the  company  without  being  urged,  and  Mr.  Ramsay,  a 
friend  of  Arthur's.  The  last  mentioned,  being  a  younger  son 
with  no  special  prospects,  had  decided  to  leave  his  mother  coun- 
try indefinitely  and  settle  in  the  United  States,  where  he  under- 
stood fortunes  could  be  acquired  in  the  most  rapid  manner. 

Mrs.  Sykes  was  a  very  disagreeable  person,  who  prided  her- 
self upon  being  as  rude  as  possible  to  everybody  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact;  and  Miss  Noel  was  a  sweet  and  gentle 
little  woman  who  was  entirely  helpless  without  her  faithful 
maid,  Parsons,  who  had  served  her  for  many  years. 

Ethel  was  a  typical  English  girl  with  a  pleasant  face,  but 
without  style,  and  with  no  idea  how  to  wear  her  clothes.  On 
one  occasion,  when  descending  the  stairs  with  the  agreeable 
consciousness  of  being  well-dressed,  she  was  confronted  by  her 
brother  Arthur,  who  greeted  her  with  the  words:  "What  is  the 
matter  with  you,  Ethel?  There  is  something  wrong  with  you, 
but  I  can't  tell  what  it  is.  You  seem  to  wear  the  same  things 
that  American  women  wear,  but  you  don't  look  as  they  do." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ketchum  had  found  their  matrimonial  ven- 


FRANCES   COURTENAY   BAYLOR  377 

ture  a  grand  success,  and  Mabel,  who  adored  her  husband,  had 
adopted  American  customs  with  unusual  cheerfulness  and 
amiability. 

They  had  been  blessed  with  a  son  and  heir,  whose  name 
was  Jared  Ponsonby,  the  first  part  of  the  appellation  being  for 
Job's  father,  and  the  latter  chosen  in  accordance  with  Mabel's 
wishes. 

The  Ketchum  household  comprised,  besides  the  immediate 
family,  the  two  mothers-in-law  and  an  indigent  German  }rdu- 
lein,  who,  being  homeless  and  without  friends,  was  included  in 
their  number  by  the  kind-hearted  Job. 

When  installing  the  two  mothers  in  their  home,  Job  talked 
the  matter  over  with  his  wife  in  this  wise : 

*'  Your  ma  has  had  a  hard  life  of  it,  and  so  has  mine,  and 
they  both  are  getting  old,  and  I  am  determined  that  they  shall 
have  everything  they  want.  I've  got  plenty  to  do  it  with,  and 
we'll  just  all  live  along  together  here  as  snug  as  sardines.  I 
ain't  a-going  to  make  any  difference  between  them,  down  to  a 
paper  of  pins,  and  I  know  you  ain't  the  woman  to  do  it  either." 

In  accordance  with  these  views,  Mr.  Ketchum  gave  both 
ladies  exactly  the  same  allowance  of  pin-money,  christened 
them  facetiously  "Mother  and  T'other,"  put  one  on  his  right 
hand  and  one  on  his  left  at  table,  and  behaved  with  the  most 
absolute  fairness  and  the  most  admirable  kindness  in  every- 
thing, from  the  greatest  to  the  smallest  question  that  came 
up.  Mabel,  who  loved  and  admired  her  husband's  generosity, 
imitated  it  as  well,  and  never  was  less  room  given  for  jealousy 
or  heart-burning  in  any  household  that  ever  was  organized. 
Mr.  Ketchum  himself  saw  to  their  comforts — their  bedroom 
fires,  port,  steaks,  tonics,  and  what  not — and  Mrs.  Ketchum 
was  an  affectionate,  respectful  daughter  to  both  alike,  anxious 
to  consult  their  tastes,  anticipate  their  wishes,  and  obey  their 
very  distracting  and  somewhat  imperious  commands — for  their 
advice  and  counsels  were  apt  to  take  the  latter  shape. 

A  more  complete  and  ideal  paradise  for  two  weary  old 
women,  who  had  been  battling  with  poverty  and  misfortune 
respectively  for  sixty  and  sixty-five  years,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  conceive;  yet,  such  is  the  perversity  of  human  nature,  neither 
of  them  was  satisfied,  happy,  or  particularly  grateful.     One 


378  ON  BOTH   SIDES 

would  have  supposed  that  there  was  no  room  for  the  serpent  to 
wriggle  in,  try  as  he  might,  yet  he  was  there,  in  envy  and  jeal- 
ousy, malice  and  all  uncharitableness,  pride  and  love  of  domin- 
ion. All  Mr.  Ketchum's  thoughtfulness,  generosity,  and  bene- 
factions were  poisoned  to  each  by  the  thought  that  the  other 
shared  them.  Did  he  bring  home  a  box  of  particularly  fine 
grapes  for  Mrs.  Vane,  that  lady  was  certain  that  its  counter- 
part was  reserved  for  her  rival.  Did  he  surprise  his  mother  by 
sending  her  up  a  handsome  silk  dress  of  superior  quality,  she 
knew  quite  well  that  another  dress  had  been  cut  from  the  same 
piece  for  Mrs.  Vane.  And  so  the  honest  fellow  got  but  tepid 
thanks,  and  went  delicately,  like  King  Agag,  fearing  to  tread  on 
one  or  the  other  of  the  sensitive  plants,  whose  "feelings"  would 
hardly  bear  breathing  upon,  though  they  had  small  care  for 
the  feelings  of  others.  And  Mabel  was  ever  gentle  and  good 
and  patient,  yet  the  two  foolish  women  squabbled  over  every- 
thing that  came  up,  and  made  themselves  very  ridiculous  and 
very  miserable.  The  usual  attitude  of  the  belligerents  was  one 
of  ill-repressed  sniffs  and  sneers;  the  warfare  was  illogical  and 
deathless,  though  rarely  did  it  find  vent  in  open  outbreaks. 
These,  when  they  came,  occurred  always  when  Mr.  Ketchum's 
restraining  influence  was  removed,  for,  with  all  his  indulgence, 
he  was  emphatically  master  of  his  own  house,  and  could,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "put  his  foot  down,"  indeed,  plant  both  feet  firmly 
and  squarely  and  stamp  on  other  feet  that  got  in  his  way. 
Once  at  table,  when  Mrs.  Ketchum,  senior,  had  openly  taunted 
Mrs.  Vane  with  being  a  dependent  on  her  son's  bounty,  and 
Mrs.  Vane  had  taken  the  ground  that  the  third  cousin  of  an 
English  earl  conferred  an  honor  in  accepting  anything  at  the 
hands  of  social  inferiors  who  were  only  too  glad  to  purchase 
good  blood  at  any  price,  Mr.  Ketchum  had  got  into  one  of  his 
rare  rages,  and  had  frightened  them  so  thoroughly  and  re- 
buked them  so  sternly  that  for  a  month  afterward  all  was  as 
beautifully  calm  and  bright  as  moonlight  in  the  tropics. 

The  English  travelers  arrived  in  New  York  and  went  at 
once  to  a  hotel,  not  kept  on  the  European  plan,  where  Sir 
Robert  faced  "that  great  American  fountain  of  absolute  author- 
ity and  irresponsible  power,"  the  clerk,  with  the  unconscious 
courage  that  animates  a  boy  in  his  first  battle.     He  did  not 


FRANCES   COURTENAY   BAYLOR  379 

know  the  danger,  and  so  knew  no  fear,  and  had  no  idea  of 
what  he  was  doing,  when,  after  saying  particularly  that  he 
wished  a  room  with  a  southern  exposure,  and  being  assigned 
one  with  a  northern  exposure — a  fact  ascertained  by  taking 
his  bearings  with  a  pocket  compass  as  soon  as  he  was  installed — 
he  marched  down-stairs  and  boldly  rebuked  the  gorgeous  young 
man  with  the  solitaire  pin  who  had  betrayed  his  confidence, 
and  who,  paralyzed  perhaps  by  such  audacity,  forgot  either  to 
threaten  or  to  command,  but  called  a  servant  and  bade  him 
"  take  that  there  lord's  things  up  to  thirty-six  from  twenty-four, 
and  be  quick  about  it,  too." 

The  visitors  were  greeted  cordially  and  entertained  royally 
by  many  friends,  both  old  and  new,  much  to  the  appreciation 
of  all  members  of  the  party,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Sykes, 
who  thought  she  was  being  run  after,  and  conducted  herself 
accordingly.  She  made  the  rudest  remarks  imaginable  at 
every  opportunity,  and  insulted  her  hosts  and  hostesses  indis- 
criminately, much  to  the  mortification  of  her  companions.  On 
one  occasion,  while  the  party  was  being  entertained  at  the 
pretty  country  home  of  Mrs.  DeWitt,  who  before  her  marriage 
was  Jenny  Meredith,  Mrs.  Sykes  was  seen  to  be  staring  fixedly 
at  a  handsome  silver  epergne  on  the  table  near  her. 

"Dear  me!"  said  she,  alertly.  "Can  that  be  a  crest  that  I 
sec?" 

"On  the  epergne?"  asked  Mrs.  DeWitt.  "Yes.  My  hus- 
band's. An  old  family  piece,  which  has  quite  recently  come 
into  our  possession  through  the  kindness  of  a  friend,  who, 
strange  to  say,  found  it  at  a  jeweler's  in  Charleston,  and  rescued 
it  just  in  time  to  prevent  its  being  melted  down  and  converted 
into  teaspoons." 

"An  old  piece,  you  say?  How  very  extraordinary!  I 
thought  Americans  had  no  grandfathers,"  said  Mrs.  Sykes, 
restoring  her  glass  to  its  place,  her  brows  still  keeping  the  arch 
of  surprise. 

Mrs.  DeWitt  flushed,  and  was  about  to  retaliate,  but,  re- 
membering that  she  was  in  her  own  house,  stopped.  She 
caught  Miss  Noel's  uneasy  look,  and  felt  repaid  for  her  self- 
control. 

Among  Mrs.  DeWitt's  guests  was  a  charming  cousin  of  hers 


sSo  ON  BOTH   SIDES 

from  Baltimore,  named  Edith  Bascome,  who  had  inherited  an 
equal  share  of  the  family  beauty  and  was  a  close  rival  to  Jenny 
in  fascination  and  charm. 

Heathcote,  who  never  had  seen  any  girl  who  could  fill  the 
place  of  Jenny  Meredith  in  his  affections,  was  much  pleased 
with  Miss  Bascome  and  immediately  decided  to  visit  Baltimore. 

After  seeing  New  York,  the  travelers  visited  Washington, 
where  they  were  much  astonished  at  many  of  the  American 
customs;  and  when  on  one  occasion  Miss  Noel  was  attending 
the  President's  reception,  and  discovered  her  maid  Parsons  in 
the  line  ahead  of  her,  her  amazement  and  indignation  knew  no 
bounds.  She  ordered  the  offending  Parsons  home  at  once, 
and  was  strongly  tempted  to  discharge  her  on  the  spot,  but  after 
further  consideration  decided  to  pardon  her,  as  it  was  her  first 
offense. 

After  "doing"  the  capital.  Sir  Robert  and  his  party  set  out 
for  the  West  and  in  due  time  arrived  at  their  destination,  the 
hospitable  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ketchum.  On  the  journey 
the  visitors  had  their  first  introduction  to  a  sleeping-car,  and 
did  not  find  the  experience  one  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  One  of 
their  fellow-travelers  was  a  loquacious  man,  who  retailed  his 
entire  family  history  to  a  neighbor  in  a  loud  tone. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  endurance  of  Mrs.  Sykes,  and 
after  bouncing  about  in  fury  behind  her  curtains  for  a  while 
she  suddenly  sent  forth  these  words  in  a  stentorian  voice,  with 
an  aggressively  British  accent: 

"Would  you  be  good  enough,  whoever  you  are  and  wherever 
you  are,  to  keep  yourself  and  your  affairs  to  yourself,  and  allow 
an  English  lady,  who  doesn't  care  a  pin  about  you,  or  your  wife, 
or  your  daughter,  or  anything  connected  with  you,  to  go  to 
sleep?"  She  thought  of  and  spoke  for  herself  alone,  but  so 
admirably  expressed  the  general  exasperation  that  a  loud  laugh 
followed. 

The  stay  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ketchum  proved  most  enjoy- 
able, and  when  it  was  completed  the  travelers  continued  their 
tour,  visited  California  and  New  Orleans,  and  took  a  trip  to 
Havana. 

While  staying  at  the  Ketchums'  Mr.  Ramsay  progressed 
rapidly  in  his  friendship  with  Miss  Bijou  Brown,  a  very  pretty 


FRANCES  COURTENAY  BAYLOR  381 

and  wealthy  young  girl  whom  he  had  met  in  New  York,  He 
left  her  without  declaring  himself,  much  to  her  mortification  and 
grief;  but  she  learned  later,  when  he  returned  to  her  after  re- 
ceiving a  legacy  from  his  aunt,  that  his  silence  was  caused  by 
his  impecuniousness,  and  she  accordingly  forgave  him. 

Arthur  Heathcote  found  Baltimore  and  Miss  Bascome  even 
more  fascinating  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  when  the  latter 
informed  him  that  she  would  never  live  in  England,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  make  his  future  home  in  the  United  States. 
Sir  Robert  purchased  an  attractive  old  estate  in  Virginia  which 
had  greatly  taken  his  fancy,  and  put  it  into  the  hands  of  his 
nephew,  who  planned  there  an  ideal  home  in  which  to  install 
his  bride. 

The  visiting  party  being  now  depleted  of  two  of  its  mem- 
bers, and  also  being  minus  Mrs.  Sykes,  who  had  forsaken  it, 
set  sail  for  its  native  land,  carrying  back  most  delightful  mem- 
ories of  the  American  trip. 


WILLIAM    BECKFORD 

(England,  1 759-1844) 
VATHEK:  AN  ARABIAN  TALE   (1786) 

This  fantastic  story,  written  in  imitation  of  the  One  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  is  not  only  an  extraordinary  story  in  itself  but  was  written  in  extraor- 
dinary circumstances.  The  author,  a  wealthy,  highly  cultivated,  and  much 
traveled  young  Englishman  of  twenty,  wrote  it  at  one  sitting:  "It  took  me,"  he 
says,  "three  days  and  two  nights  of  hard  labor.  I  never  took  my  clothes  off 
the  whole  time.  The  severe  apphcation  made  me  very  ill."  Vathek  was  origi- 
nally written  in  French,  and  was  so  admirable  in  style  and  idiom  that  it  was  con- 
sidered by  many  the  work  of  a  Frenchman.  It  was  first  published  in  1786,  as  a 
translation  from  the  French,  said  to  have  been  made  by  Dr.  Henley,  who  also 
supplied  the  notes.  The  original  edition  in  the  British  Museum,  however,  does 
not  bear  the  title  Vathek  ;  it  is  simply  entitled:  "An  Arabian  Tale  from  an  un- 
published MS.,  with  notes,  etc."  (London,  1786).  The  original  French  copy 
was  published  at  Lausanne  in  1787.  Lord  Byron  said  of  it:  "As  an  Eastern 
tale,  even  Rasselas  must  bow  before  it;  the  Happy  Valley  will  not  bear  a  com- 
parison ^vith  the  Hall  of  Eblis."  One  critic,  fifty  years  after  the  publication  of 
Vathek,  said:  "In  the  Hall  of  Eblis,  the  figure  of  Sohman  on  his  throne,  showing 
his  heart  enveloped  in  flame;  the  impressive  sentences  he  utters;  the  awful 
forms  of  the  pre-Adamite  kings;  the  innumerable  multitudes  whirled  around  in 
eternal  motion,  each  hand  pointing  to  the  heart  on  fire,  leave  an  impression  on 
the  mind  more  human,  more  startling  and  awakening  than  any  drawn  from  the 
hell  of  Milton." 

[he  Caliph  Vathek,  grandson  of  Haroun-al- 
Raschid,  possessed  a  pleasing  and  majestic 
figure,  but  when  angry  one  of  his  eyes  became 
so  terrible  that  no  one  could  bear  its  glance. 
He  was  exceedingly  generous,  and  his  greatest 
pleasures  were  woman  and  wine.  He  was 
especially  addicted  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table, 
and  denied  that  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  hell 
of  this  world  to  make  a  paradise  of  the  next. 
In  magnificence  he  surpassed  his  predecessors:  he  considered 
his  father's  palace  far  too  cramped,  and  therefore  added  five 
palatial  wings  for  the  gratification  of  each  of  the  senses.  In 
the  first  of  these  The  Eternal,  or  Unsatiating  Banquet,  tables 

382 


WILLIAM   BECKFORD  383 

were  kept  spread  with  the  most  exquisite  dainties  and  Hquors. 
The  Temple  of  Melody,  or  The  Nectar  of  the  Soul,  was  in- 
habited by  the  most  skilful  musicians  and  admired  poets  of 
the  day,  who  provided  perpetual  entertainment.  The  Delight 
of  the  Eyes,  or  The  Support  of  Memory,  was  a  vast  museum. 
The  Palace  of  Perfumes,  or  The  Incentive  to  Pleasure,  con- 
sisted of  various  halls  in  which  all  the  perfumes  in  the  world 
were  kept  burning  in  golden  censers  and  torches,  and  aromatic 
lamps  flamed  day  and  night.  This  was  surrounded  by  an  im- 
mense garden,  planted  with  every  known  fragrant  flower  and 
herb.  The  Retreat  of  Mirth,  or  The  Dangerous,  was  in- 
habited by  women  as  beautiful  and  seductive  as  the  houris. 

Notwithstanding  Vathek's  love  of  everything  that  ministered 
to  the  senses,  he  was  a  great  student  and  lover  of  the  sciences, 
particularly  the  occult.  He  was  fond  of  arguing  with  the 
doctors,  and  when  the  zealots  opposed  him  he  persecuted 
them  in  return,  so  as  to  have  reason  on  his  side,  at  least. 

Mahomet  naturally  viewed  the  irreligious  conduct  of  his 
vicegerent  on  earth  with  some  indignation;  but  he  told  the 
genii  to  leave  him  alone  and  see  how  far  he  would  go  before 
punishing  him.  He  told  them  to  help  Vathek  to  complete  the 
tower  which  he  had  begun  for  the  purpose  of  insolently  pene- 
trating the  secrets  of  heaven.  The  result  was  that  for  one 
cubit  the  workmen  raised  in  the  daytime  two  were  added  in 
the  night,  and  this  immensely  tickled  Vathek's  vanity.  He 
was  extremely  proud,  finally,  when  he  mounted  the  fifteen 
hundred  steps  and  surveyed  the  entire  city  of  Samarah  spread 
below  him.  On  the  summit  he  spent  many  nights  in  astro- 
logical studies,  and  learned  that  he  was  to  have  the  most  ex- 
traordinary adventures  accomplished  by  a  wonderful  personage 
from  an  unknown  country.  He  made  a  proclamation,  there- 
fore, that  every  stranger  should  be  brought  into  his  presence. 
Soon  afterward  a  hideous  being  arrived  whose  appearance 
terrified  the  guards  that  brought  him  into  the  Caliph's  presence. 
He  had  with  him  marvelous  wares;  but  what  particularly 
attracted  the  Caliph's  admiration  were  some  sabers  that  dealt 
automatically  a  blow  at  the  person  they  were  desired  to  strike. 
The  dazzling  blades  were  engraved  with  unknown  characters. 
He  told  the  stranger  to  take  what  gold  he  wanted  for  them, 


384  VATHEK:  AN  ARABIAN  TALE 

and  then  asked  him  whence  he  came.  To  all  inquiries,  he 
showed  his  hideous  teeth  and  laughed  horribly.  He  was 
ordered  to  prison.  When  Vathek  went  to  dinner,  he  was  so 
disturbed  that  he  could  eat  only  thirty-two  dishes  of  the  three 
hundred  that  daily  supplied  his  table.  His  anger  was  further 
inflamed  in  the  morning  when,  on  visiting  the  prison,  he  found 
it  empty  and  the  guards  dead.  His  mother,  Carathis,  who  was 
an  adept  in  astrology,  did  her  best  to  comfort  him,  and  sug- 
gested that  proclamation  should  be  made  that  anyone  who 
would  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the  swords  should  be  richly 
rewarded,  and  that  those  who  failed  should  have  their  beards 
burned  off.  News  of  the  stranger  was  to  be  rewarded  with 
fifty  beautiful  slaves  and  fifty  jars  of  Kirmith  apricots.  Though 
this  made  their  mouths  water,  the  Caliph's  subjects  were  not 
able  to  gratify  their  longings.  Finally  an  old  man  ap- 
peared who  deciphered  the  inscriptions;  but  the  next  day,  on 
examining  the  swords,  he  found  that  the  words  had  changed 
to  those  of  totally  different  import;  and  thereafter  Vathek 
noticed  that  the  characters  changed  daily.  Though  he  con- 
sulted the  stars  from  the  top  of  his  tower,  he  gained  no  satis- 
faction. He  lost  his  appetite,  ceased  to  administer  justice, 
and  shut  up  the  Palace  of  the  Five  Senses.  Sometimes  his 
attendants  would  carry  him  to  a  high  flower-carpeted  plateau 
within  a  few  miles  of  the  city  to  breathe  the  pure  air  and  drink 
at  the  four  fountains  there.  One  day  while  there  the  hideous 
stranger  reappeared  and  gave  him  a  potion  that  immediately 
restored  his  health  and  spirits.  Vathek  took  him  home,  opened 
the  palace,  and  magnificently  entertained  him. 

At  the  divan  next  morning  Vathek  received  a  message  from 
Carathis  saying  that  the  stars  portended  danger,  and  that  the 
potion  was  probably  poison.  The  stranger's  mocking  laughter 
so  enraged  Vathek  that  he  kicked  him  off  the  steps  of  the 
throne,  in  which  act  he  was  imitated  by  all  the  bystanders. 
The  stranger,  being  short  and  plump,  immediately  rolled  him- 
self up  into  a  ball  and  was  kicked  through  the  streets  of  the  city 
by  the  whole  population,  headed  by  Vathek,  out  to  the  plain  of 
Catoul  and  into  the  valley  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  the 
four  fountains,  where  he  disappeared  over  a  precipice  into  an 
abyss.     On  the  edge  of  the  precipice  Vathek  ordered  his  tents 


WILLIAM  BECKFORD  385 

to  be  pitched  and  spent  many  nights  in  vigils.  At  length  a 
terrible  voice  addressed  him:  "Wouldst  thou  devote  thyself  to 
me?  adore  the  terrestrial  influences,  and  abjure  Mahomet.  On 
these  conditions  I  will  bring  thee  to  the  Palace  of  Subterranean 
Fire.  There  shalt  thou  behold  in  immense  depositories  the 
treasures  which  the  stars  have  promised  thee,  and  which 
will  be  conferred  by  those  intelligences  whom  thou  shalt  thus 
render  propitious.  It  was  from  thence  I  brought  my  sabers, 
and  it  is  there  that  Soliman-Ben-Daoud  reposes,  surrounded 
by  the  talismans  that  control  the  world." 

Vathek  promised,  and  immediately  the  earth  opened,  and 
Vathek  saw  the  stranger  standing  with  a  golden  key  in  his 
hand  before  an  ebony  portal.  Before  admitting  Vathek,  how- 
ever, he  demanded  the  blood  of  fifty  beautiful  children  as  a 
libation.  Vathek  returned  to  Samarah  and  organized  a  splen- 
did festival  on  the  plain,  during  which  he  managed  to  throw 
the  necessary  number  of  children  into  the  gulf.  To  his  amaze- 
ment, though,  the  chasm  immediately  closed  against  him,  and 
he  was  left  alone  to  the  execration  of  his  subjects.  It  required 
the  utmost  exertions  of  his  vizier,  Morakanabad,  and  Baba- 
balouk,  the  head  of  the  eunuchs,  to  get  him  to  his  palace  in 
safety.  Carathis  somewhat  appeased  the  angry  crowd  by  ha- 
ranguing them  from  her  window,  while  Bababalouk  showered 
Vathek's  stores  of  gold  upon  them.  By  a  secret  passage 
Vathek  reached  his  tower  and  ascended  to  the  top,  where  he 
was  joined  by  Carathis,  who  there  built  an  altar  for  sacrifice 
to  the  subterranean  genii.  A  pile  of  mummies'  bones  and 
vases  of  serpents'  oil  was  raised  to  a  height  of  twenty  cubits. 
The  blaze  terrified  the  inhabitants  of  Samarah,  who  broke  into 
the  tower  with  buckets  of  water  to  quench  the  flames.  Those 
who  reached  the  top,  half  suffocated,  were  seized  by  Carathis's 
mutes  and  negresses  and  thrown  into  the  flames,  which  im- 
mediately changed  from  swarthy  crimson  to  bright  rose,  while 
mephitic  vapors  changed  to  others  of  most  exquisite  fragrance, 
and  the  marble  columns  rang  with  harmonious  sounds.  Cara- 
this was  delighted  at  the  success  of  her  sacrifice.  A  table 
appeared  loaded  with  dainties,  and  on  it  was  an  urn  containing 
a  parchment,  on  which  was  written  the  satisfaction  of  the  in- 
fernal powers  and  a  command  for  Vathek  to  set  out  to  Istakhar 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 25 


386  VATHEK:  AN  ARABIAN   TALE 

with  his  wives,  slaves,  richest  laden  camels  and  most  magnificent 
litters.  The  document  read:  "Beware  how  thou  enterest  any 
dwelling  on  thy  route;  or  thou  shalt  feel  the  effects  of  my 
anger."  Vathek  and  his  mother  then  caroused,  ironically  toast- 
ing Mahomet  and  blaspheming  Balaam's  Ass,  the  Dog  of  the 
Seven  Sleepers,  and  all  the  other  animals  in  Paradise. 

At  this  juncture,  an  embassy  returned  from  Mecca  bringing 
with  it  a  precious  besom  used  to  sweep  the  sacred  Kaaba. 
Vathek  received  the  pious  mouUahs  with  the  utmost  indignity. 
On  taking  leave  of  Vathek,  Carathis  expressed  her  desire  to 
visit  the  subterranean  palace,  and  she  said:  "There  is  nothing  so 
pleasing  as  retiring  to  caverns:  my  taste  for  dead  bodies  and 
everything  like  mummy  is  decided;  and,  I  am  confident,  thou 
wilt  see  the  most  exquisite  of  their  kind.  Forget  me  not,  then, 
but  the  moment  thou  art  in  possession  of  the  talismans  which 
are  to  open  the  way  to  the  mineral  kingdoms,  and  the  center 
of  the  earth  itself,  fail  not  to  despatch  some  trusty  genius  to 
take  me  and  my  cabinet;  for  the  oil  of  serpents  I  have  pinched 
to  death  will  be  a  pretty  present  to  the  Giaour." 

On  the  night  before  this,  Vathek  had  ascended  the  tower 
with  his  mother  to  see  whether  everything  was  propitious:  the 
planets  appeared  in  their  most  favorable  aspects.  They  supped 
gaily  on  the  roof,  and  during  the  repast  Vathek  thought  he 
heard  shouts  of  laughter  in  the  sky,  which  inspired  the  fullest 
assurance. 

At  moonrise  the  great  standard  of  the  Califat  was  dis- 
played: twenty  thousand  lances  shone  around  it,  and  the 
Caliph,  treading  royally  on  the  cloth  of  gold,  ascended  his 
litter  amid  general  acclamation. 

For  three  days  all  went  well;  but  on  the  fourth  angry  skies 
inclined  Vathek  to  take  shelter  in  Ghulchissar,  whose  gov- 
ernor greeted  him  with  refreshments  and  invitations.  How- 
ever, he  consulted  his  tablets  and  refused.  He  sent  for  his 
geographers,  but  the  maps  were  all  soaked  and  nobody  knew 
which  way  to  turn;  so,  with  curses  and  mutterings  of  the 
bowstring  for  his  useless  advisers,  he  determined  to  cross  the 
heights  under  guidance  of  a  peasant,  who  undertook  to  bring 
him  to  Rocnabad  in  four  days.  The  wailings  and  shrieks  of 
the  eunuchs  and  the  women  at  the  terrors  of  the  precipices  did 


WILLIAM   BECKFORD  387 

not  deter  him,  nor  did  a  terrible  tempest.  Worse  was  to 
come,  however,  for  Vathek  was  aroused  in  his  capacious 
cushioned  Htter  by  Bababalouk,  who  cried:  "Misfortune  is 
arrived  at  its  height;  wild  beasts,  who  entertain  no  more 
reverence  for  your  sacred  person  than  for  a  dead  ass,  have 
beset  your  camels  and  their  drivers;  thirty  of  the  most  richly 
laden  are  already  become  their  prey,  as  well  as  your  confec- 
tioners, your  cooks  and  purveyors;  and  unless  our  holy  Prophet 
should  protect  us,  we  have  all  eaten  our  last  meal." 

This  was  too  much:  everybody,  including  the  ladies,  had 
to  seize  torches.  Vathek  himself,  with  a  thousand  blasphemies, 
was  compelled  to  touch  with  his  sacred  feet  the  naked  earth. 
One  of  the  cedar  forests  took  fire,  which  was  communicated 
to  the  ladies'  litters,  and  there  was  great  lamentation  when  the 
women  had  to  descend  and  expose  themselves  to  the  vulgar 
gaze.  One  of  Vathek's  Ethiopian  wives  (he  was  catholic  in 
his  tastes)  shouldered  her  lord  like  a  sack  of  dates  and  carried 
him  out  of  danger. 

When  the  tents  were  finally  pitched  and  Vathek  called  for 
his  evening  meal,  nothing  was  forthcoming.  All  the  provisions 
and  cooking  utensils  had  been  lost.  Those  delicate  cakes  baked 
in  silver  ovens  for  his  royal  mouth,  those  rich  manchets,  amber 
comfits,  flagons  of  Shiraz  wine,  porcelain  vases  of  snow,  and 
grapes  from  the  banks  of  the  Tigris,  were  all  lost.  Baba- 
balouk could  present  nothing  but  roasted  wolf,  vultures  a  la 
daube,  acrid  herbs,  rotten  truffles,  boiled  thistles.  In  the  morn- 
ing his  diet  stimulated  Vathek  to  imprecations  against  the 
Giaour  and  some  soothing  expressions  toward  Mahomet. 
He  was  in  a  desolate  gorge,  with  no  help  in  sight.  The  timely 
arrival  of  two  dwarfs  from  the  Emir  Fakreddin,  with  a  present 
of  fruits  and  offers  of  hospitality,  gladdened  his  heart.  Before 
their  address  was  finished,  the  fruits  had  disappeared.  As  for 
Vathek,  his  piety  increased,  and  in  the  same  breath  he  recited 
his  prayers  and  called  for  the  Koran  and  sugar.  However,  he 
paled  on  consulting  his  tablets,  on  which  Carathis  had  written : 
"Beware  of  puny  messengers." 

Nevertheless,  he  determined  to  accept  the  hospitality  of 
Fakreddin,  who  soon  arrived  and  conducted  Vathek  to  his 
magnificent  palace.     The  ladies  were  taken  into  the  harem  and 


388  VATHEK:  AN  ARABIAN  TALE 

delightfully  entertained  by  the  Emir's  daughter,  Nouronihar, 
who  was  as  sprightly  as  an  antelope  and  full  of  wanton 
gayety.  She  assisted  the  mischievous  ladies  to  give  poor 
Bababalouk  a  good  ducking  in  the  bath,  and  left  him 
there  vainly  seeking  an  exit  till  the  morning.  The  Emir  gave 
a  great  festival  in  honor  of  the  Caliph,  which  was  attended  by 
all  the  holy  men  of  the  neighborhood,  and  there  Vathek  saw 
and  was  deeply  smitten  by  the  charms  of  Nouronihar,  who 
was  betrothed  to  her  cousin,  Gulchenrouz,  an  effeminate  boy 
of  her  own  age.  On  her  way  home  in  the  moonhght,  Nour- 
onihar got  separated  from  her  eunuch  escort  and  her  maidens, 
and  was  attracted  to  a  grotto  in  the  mountains  that  was 
brilliantly  lighted.  It  was  decorated  with  the  appendages 
of  royalty:  diadems  and  heron  feathers,  all  sparkling  with 
carbuncles.  After  soft  music,  a  voice  asked:  "For  what 
monarch  are  these  torches  kindled,  this  bath  prepared,  and 
these  habiliments  which  belong  to  the  talismanic  powers?" 
"For  the  charming  daughter  of  Fakreddin,"  another  voice 
repUed.  "What?  For  that  trifler,  who  consumes  her  time 
with  a  giddy  child?  Can  she  be  amused  with  such  empty 
toys,  whilst  he  who  is  destined  to  enjoy  the  treasures  of  the 
pre- Adamite  sultans  is  inflamed  with  love?"  "For  her?  No! 
she  will  be  wise  enough  to  answer  that  passion  alone  that  can 
aggrandize  her  glory.  Then  all  the  riches  this  place  contains, 
as  well  as  the  carbuncle  of  Giamschid,  shall  be  hers."  "You 
judge  right,  and  I  haste  to  Istakhar  to  prepare  the  Palace  of 
Subterranean  Fire  for  the  reception  of  the  bridal  pair." 

Nouronihar  awoke  in  her  father's  harem,  and  found  every- 
body in  despair  at  having  missed  her.  The  next  day  she  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  Vathek  with  much  graciousness.  Fakreddin 
appealed  to  Vathek  to  respect  the  laws  of  hospitality,  and, 
when  he  found  that  his  remonstrances  were  of  no  avail,  he 
gave  Nouronihar  and  Gulchenrouz  a  drug  which  produced  a 
death-like  trance;  he  then  held  a  splendid  funeral,  meanwhile 
sending  the  pair  to  a  hidden  lake  in  the  hills,  where  they  were 
tended  by  the  two  dwarfs,  who  told  them  that  they  were  now 
in  Paradise. 

Vathek  was  in  despair.  He  renounced  the  perfidious  Giaour 
and  supplicated  the  pardon  of  Mahomet,  and  the  Emir  con- 


WILLIAM   BECKFORD  389 

gratulated  himself  on  having  performed  so  admirable  a  con- 
version. Vathek  visited  Nouronihar's  tomb,  and  declared  his 
intention  of  doing  so  daily. 

One  day  the  adventurous  Nouronihar  scaled  the  rocks 
around  the  lake  and  met  the  disconsolate  Vathek,  and  yielded 
to  his  entreaties.  He  left  the  Emir's  palace  and  pitched  his 
tents  in  a  neighboring  valley,  where  Bababalouk  supplied  him 
with  every  luxury  that  could  please  his  palate  and  Nouronihar 
delighted  him  with  her  songs  and  love. 

His  neglected  Dilara,  now  sheltered  by  Fakreddin,  sent 
messengers  to  Carathis,  informing  her  of  present  conditions. 
Vathek's  mother  immediately  mounted  her  great  camel,  Albou- 
faki,  and,  attended  only  by  her  one-eyed  slaves,  the  hideous 
Nerkes  and  the  relentless  Cafour,  she  departed,  telling  the 
Vizier  to  fleece  the  people  well  in  her  absence,  for  she  would 
need  large  sums.  Alboufaki  inhaled  malignant  fogs  with  de- 
light, and  was  glad  to  stop  at  a  miasmatic  marsh  for  Carathis 
and  her  two  negresses  to  cull  venomous  plants  for  the  benefit 
of  whosoever  might  retard  the  expedition  to  Istakhar.  At 
dusk,  Alboufaki  stopped  and  stamped  so  that  Carathis  knew 
they  were  near  a  cemetery,  and  on  examination  she  discovered 
two  thousand  graves,  and  determined  to  consult  the  ghouls 
who  must  haunt  it,  supplying  them  with  fresh  provisions  in  the 
bodies  of  her  two  guides.  Having  obtained  the  information 
she  required,  she  proceeded;  and,  on  the  sixth  day,  Vathek 
was  awakened  by  the  rough  trot  of  Alboufaki.  After  a  stormy 
interview  between  mother  and  son,  Vathek  consented  to  pur- 
sue his  original  quest,  only  stipulating  that  he  should  be  ac- 
companied by  his  beloved  Nouronihar,  who  was  "  enamored  of 
carbuncles,  especially  that  of  Giamschid."  The  latter  dropped 
a  tender  tear  over  the  memory  of  Gulchenrouz,  which  aroused 
the  jealousy  of  Vathek,  who  told  the  tale  to  his  mother.  Cara- 
this then  retired  to  her  tent,  where  her  negresses  informed  her 
that  Alboufaki,  in  search  of  some  sufficiently  venomous  moss, 
had  run  across  some  blue  fish  in  a  lake.  Carathis  immediately 
proceeded  thither  and  pronounced  incantations,  whereupon 
the  fish  supplied  her  with  the  desired  information.  She  dis- 
covered the  retreat  of  Gulchenrouz,  and  during  a  battle  between 
the  negresses  and  the  dwarfs,  the  boy  escaped  and  was  picked 


390  VATHEK:   AN  ARABIAN  TALE 

up  by  a  good  old  genius,  who  had  also  rescued  the  fifty  little 
victims  which  the  impiety  of  Vathek  had  devoted  to  the  voracity 
of  the  cruel  Giaour  in  the  horrible  chasm.  The  genius  brought 
them  all  up  in  nests  higher  than  the  clouds,  and  fixed  his  own 
abode  in  a  larger  nest,  from  which  he  had  driven  the  rocs  that 
had  built  it. 

The  enraged  Carathis  returned  to  vent  her  spleen  upon 
Vathek  and  Nouronihar;  but  in  the  evening  the  sky  toward 
Samarah  turned  fiery  red ;  and,  on  consulting  her  magic  instru- 
ments, she  found  that  a  great  rebellion  had  broken  out  at 
Samarah  and  that  her  wonderful  tower  was  invested.  Before 
returning,  therefore,  in  hot  haste  she  sought  her  son  and  con- 
jured him  to  strike  tent  at  once  and  set  forward,  because, 
though  he  had  broken  the  conditions  of  the  parchment,  she 
was  not  yet  without  hope;  "for  it  cannot  be  denied  that  thou 
hast  violated  to  admiration  the  laws  of  hospitality  by  seducing 
the  daughter  of  the  Emir,  after  having  partaken  of  his  bread 
and  his  salt.  Such  a  conduct  cannot  but  be  delightful  to  the 
Giaour;  and  if,  on  thy  march,  thou  canst  signalize  thyself  by 
an  additional  crime,  all  will  still  go  well  and  thou  shalt  enter 
the  palace  of  Soliman  in  triumph.  Adieu!  Alboufaki  and 
my  negresses  are  waiting  at  the  door!" 

The  Caliph  wished  his  mother  a  prosperous  journey,  and 
finished  his  supper.  At  midnight  he  broke  camp,  and  in  four 
days  reached  the  spacious  valley  of  Rocnabad,  where  he  was 
welcomed  by  a  colony  of  pious  santons.  Suspecting  that  their 
oratories  might  be  deemed  a  habitation  by  the  Giaour,  he 
ordered  them  to  be  leveled  and  the  gardens  devastated.  A 
deputation  of  the  moullahs,  sheiks,  cadis,  and  imans  of  Shiraz 
arrived  with  presents,  and  with  an  invitation  to  visit  their  city 
and  mosques.  The  presents  were  accepted,  and,  in  order  to 
make  sure  that  the  dignitaries  should  retire  from  the  Caliph's 
presence  deferentially  backward,  they  were  bound  on  their 
asses  with  their  faces  to  their  tails,  and  driven  with  nettles  out 
of  the  Caliph's  presence.  Two  days  later,  the  mountains  of 
Istakhar  came  into  view,  and  the  Caliph  and  Nouronihar  were 
unable  to  repress  their  transports.  The  good  genii  now  has- 
tened to  Mahomet  in  the  seventh  heaven,  and  begged  him  to 
prevent  Vathek's  impending  ruin  at  the  hand  of  the  dives. 


WILLIAM   BECKFORD  391 

Mahomet  indignantly  replied  that  Vathek  richly  deserved  ret- 
ribution, but  he  was  willing  to  allow  them  one  more  efifort. 
One  of  them,  therefore,  assumed  the  form  of  a  shepherd,  and 
on  the  slope  of  a  hill  played  pathetic  melody  on  his  flute.  His 
music  melted  the  hearts  of  the  whole  caravan.  Even  Vathek 
and  his  partner  felt  remorse  for  their  misdeeds,  and  all  ap- 
proached the  shepherd,  who  reproved  Vathek  in  the  severest 
terms  and  warned  him  that  this  was  his  last  hour  of  grace,  at 
the  same  time  exhorting  him  to  repent  and  make  amends. 
Vathek,  however,  hardened  his  heart,  and  pressed  forward 
with  Nouronihar,  although  most  of  his  followers  deserted  him. 
Finally  the  pair,  alone,  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  vast  staircase, 
which  they  mounted  and  saw  before  them  an  inscription  in 
fiery  letters  on  the  darkness  to  the  effect  that  though  Vathek 
had  violated  the  conditions  of  the  parchment,  yet  in  view 
of  his  other  services  Eblis  would  permit  the  portals  of  his 
palace  to  be  opened,  and  the  subterranean  fire  to  receive  him 
into  the  number  of  its  adorers. 

The  rock  yawned,  revealing  a  staircase  of  polished  marble, 
down  which  the  pair  hastened.  At  the  bottom,  before  a  vast 
portal  of  ebony,  they  were  welcomed  by  the  Giaour,  before 
whose  golden  key  the  doors  flew  open.  Vathek  and  Nour- 
onihar were  amazed  to  find  themselves  in  a  vast  hall  with 
a  vaulted  roof  supported  by  rows  upon  rows  of  columns  and 
arcades  extending  into  infinite  distances.  The  pavement  was 
strewn  with  gold  dust  and  saffron,  exhaling  overpowering  odors. 
As  they  passed  along,  they  noticed  an  infinity  of  censers  in 
which  ambergris  and  aloes-wood  were  burning.  Tables  spread 
with  rich  viands  and  every  kind  of  wine  in  crystal  vases  stood 
between  the  columns,  and  a  throng  of  genii  of  both  sexes  were 
dancing  lasciviously  to  barbarous  strains.  A  vast  multitude 
incessantly  passed  by,  holding  their  hands  over  their  hearts, 
pale  as  death  and  taking  no  notice  of  one  another.  Some 
stalked  slowly  along,  some  rushed  about  shrieking  with  agony, 
some  grinding  their  teeth  in  fury  foamed  more  frantically  than 
the  wildest  maniac.  They  all  avoided  each  other.  The  Giaour 
would  answer  no  questions,  but  hurried  his  charges  along.  At 
length  they  entered,  through  long  curtains  brocaded  with  crim- 
son and  gold,  a  vast  tabernacle  hung  with  leopard-skins.     An 


392  VATHEK:  AN   ARABIAN  TALE 

infinity  of  bearded  elders  and  armored  afrits  were  prostrate 
before  an  eminence,  on  the  top  of  which  upon  a  globe  of  fire 
sat  the  dread  Eblis.  He  was  youthful  in  appearance,  but  his 
noble  features  seemed  to  have  been  corroded  with  malignant 
vapors.  His  eyes  were  full  of  pride  and  despair;  his  hair 
resembled  that  of  an  angel  of  light;  an  iron  scepter  was  in  his 
hand.  Vathek  was  daunted;  Nouronihar  was  greatly  interested. 
Eblis  welcomed  the  creatures  of  clay:  "Enjoy  whatever  this 
palace  affords — the  treasures  of  the  pre-Adamite  sultans,  their 
fulminating  sabers,  and  those  talismans  that  compel  the  dives 
to  open  the  subterranean  expanses  of  the  mountain  of  Kaf." 
Everything  was  open  for  their  inspection. 

Eagerly  following  their  guide,  they  reached  a  vast  domed 
hall  with  fifty  bronze  doors  in  the  walls.  Here  lay  the  fleshless 
forms  of  the  pre-Adamite  kings,  who  still  retained  enough  life 
to  be  conscious  of  their  condition.  With  their  hands  on  their 
hearts  they  gazed  upon  one  another.  At  their  feet  were  in- 
scribed stories  of  their  exploits,  their  power,  their  pride,  and 
their  crimes.  Highest  of  all,  and  immediately  under  the  dome, 
lay  Soliman-Ben-Daoud.  A  range  of  brazen  vases  surrounded 
the  elevation.  "  Remove  the  covers,"  said  the  Giaour  to  Vathek, 
"and  avail  thyself  of  the  talismans  which  will  break  asunder  all 
these  gates  of  bronze  and  render  thee  master  of  the  treasures 
contained  within,  and  of  the  spirits  that  guard  them." 

Vathek  was  about  to  obey,  when  Soliman  addressed  him 
and  recited  the  glories,  pleasures,  and  crimes  of  his  career  and 
his  present  torments.  Vathek  was  horrified  to  see  that  Soli- 
man's  heart  was  in  flames,  and  reproached  the  Giaour  for  hav- 
ing brought  him  there,  calling  on  Mahomet  for  mercy. 

The  Giaour  replied:  "Know,  miserable  Prince!  thou  art 
now  in  the  abode  of  vengeance  and  despair.  Thy  heart  also 
will  be  kindled  like  those  of  the  other  votaries  of  Eblis.  A  few 
days  are  allotted  thee  previous  to  this  fatal  period:  employ 
them  as  thou  wilt;  recline  on  these  heaps  of  gold;  command 
the  infernal  potentates;  range,  at  thy  pleasure,  through  these 
immense  subterranean  domains:  no  barrier  shall  be  shut 
against  thee.  As  for  me,  I  have  fulfilled  my  mission:  I  now 
leave  thee  to  thyself."     At  these  words  he  vanished. 

Hand  in  hand  the  couple  tottered    from   the   fatal   hall. 


WILLIAM   BECKFORD 


393 


Every  portal  opened  and  the  dives  fell  prostrate  at  their  ap- 
proach. Every  reservoir  of  riches  was  open  to  them,  but  they 
felt  neither  curiosity,  pride,  nor  avarice.  Apathetically  they 
listened  to  the  music  and  gazed  on  the  banquet.  They  wan- 
dered from  chamber  to  chamber,  hall  to  hall,  and  gallery  to 
gallery,  all  traversed  by  beings  in  vain  search  of  repose  and 
consolation.  They  awaited  in  dread  suspense  the  moment 
that  should  render  them  to  each  other  the  like  objects  of  terror. 
Occasionally  also  they  reproached  each  other.  Finally  Vathek 
ordered  an  afrit  to  fetch  Carathis,  as  the  author  of  all  his  woes. 
When  she  arrived  on  the  back  of  the  groaning  afrit,  Vathek  re- 
proached her  for  her  teachings.  She  informed  him  of  the 
vengeance  she  had  wreaked  on  Samarah  before  leaving.  Cara- 
this then  entered  the  dome  of  Soliman,  opened  the  vases, 
seized  the  talismans,  and  penetrated  into  the  most  secret 
recesses  of  the  realm  of  Eblis.  Nothing  appalled  her  fearless 
soul.  Even  when  Eblis  confronted  her,  she  was  not  daunted. 
She  even  attempted  to  dethrone  one  of  the  Solimans,  to  usurp 
his  place,  when  she  was  halted  by  a  voice  from  the  abyss  of 
death,  proclaiming:  "All  is  accomplished!"  At  that  moment, 
she  laid  her  right  hand  upon  her  heart,  which  had  become  a 
receptacle  of  eternal  fire.  At  the  same  moment  Vathek  and 
Nouronihar  were  struck.  Their  hearts  also  took  fire,  and  they 
recoiled  from  one  another  with  looks  of  the  most  furious  dis- 
traction. All  plunged  into  the  cursed  multitude,  there  to  wander 
in  an  eternity  of  unabating  anguish. 


CUTHBERT   BEDE 

(EDWARD   BRADLEY) 

(England,  1827-1889) 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN  (1853) 

"Cuthbert  Bede"  was  the  pseudonym  of  the  rector  of  Denton  in  Hunting- 
tonshire,  although  he  was  not  appointed  to  the  living  until  six  years  after  the 
pubUcation  of  his  first  book.  He  wrote  several  stories  of  a  mildly  humorous 
nature,  but  none  achieved  the  popular  success  of  that  which  is  presented  here. 

'ROM  earliest  times,  as  you  may  find  by  referring 
to  the  unpublished  volume  of  Burke's  Landed 
Gentry,  the  Verdant  Greens  have  been  regarded 
as  highly  respectable. 

To  be  sure,  none  of  the  Greens  has  ever 
attained  to  great  eminence,  nor  has  any  one  ever 
amassed  an  unusual  amount  of  wealth.  In  fact, 
they  have  from  generation  to  generation  been 
good-natured  dupes  of  more  astute  minds.  In 
the  comedy  of  the  monkey  and  the  catspaw,  they  have  always 
been  ready  to  assume  the  role  of  the  guileless  cat,  and  there  has 
rarely  been  a  generation  that  did  not  number  among  its  mem- 
bers a  number  of  burned  paws. 

Turn  again  to  the  chronicles  of  which  I  have  spoken  and 
you  will  find  this  entry:  "Verdant  Green,  of  the  Manor 
Green,  Co.  Warwick,  Gent.,  who  married  Mary,  only  surviv- 
ing child  of  Samuel  Sappey,  Esq.,  of  Sapcot  Hall,  Co.  Salop; 
by  whom  he  has  issue,  one  son,  and  three  daughters:  Mary, 
Verdant,  Helen,  Fanny." 

The  Manor  Green  was  situated  in  one  of  the  loveliest  spots 
in  all  Warwickshire;  a  county  rich  in  all  that  constitutes  the 
picturesqueness  of  a  true  English  landscape.  Here  Verdant 
passed  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  here  he  was  petted  and  spoiled, 

394 


CUTHBERT  BEDE  395 

as  much  as  his  naturally  sweet  temper  would  allow,  by  the 
assiduous  attentions  of  mother,  sisters,  and  a  doting  father. 

Verdant  had  no  playmate  of  his  own  age,  and  his  mother 
had  a  horror  of  public  schools,  so  he  never  was  allowed  away 
from  her  apron-strings,  although  the  rector,  Mr.  Larkyns,  had 
a  son  v/ho  was  being  educated  at  a  public  school,  and  intimated 
that  such  a  training  was  just  what  Verdant  needed. 

Verdant  thought  himself  lucky  to  escape  going  to  such  a 
place  of  horrors  as  a  public  school,  for  Master  Charley  had 
told  him  many  a  tale  of  the  way  the  second  master  would  find 
out  your  tenderest  places  when  you  were  licked  for  a  false 
quantity,  and  of  the  jolly  "mills"  the  boys  used  to  have  with 
town  "cads,"  who  would  lie  in  wait  for  a  fellow  and  half  kill 
him  if  they  caught  him  alone;  and  of  the  fun  it  was  to  make  a 
junior  form  fellow  fag  for  you  and  do  all  your  dirty  work. 

So  Verdant  came  to  the  age  of  eighteen  without  ever  having 
fired  a  gun  or  driven  a  cricket-ball,  or  having  learned  to  swim 
or  to  ride,  or  to  do  anything  that  a  girl  should  not  do. 

But  if  the  Greens  did  not  realize  that  their  son  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  become  a  milksop,  the  rector  did,  and,  wishing  to  save 
the  boy  from  such  a  fate,  he  had  several  talks  with  Pater  Green 
in  which  he  discussed  the  advisability  of  sending  Verdant  to 
Oxford,  where  he  would  mix  with  other  boys  and  learn  some- 
thing of  the  world.  Mr.  Green  finally  allowed  himself  to  be 
swayed  by  this  counsel,  and,  to  the  great  regret  and  trepida- 
tion of  Mrs.  Green,  it  was  decided  to  send  Verdant  down. 

Brazenface  will  be  a  good  name  to  call  the  college  selected 
for  Verdant,  and  the  evening  of  the  day  of  his  arrival  (accom- 
panied by  his  father)  saw  him  ensconced  in  small  but  com- 
fortable quarters,  with  a  scout  in  the  person  of  Robert  Filcher 
to  do  his  errands,  and  several  amiable  students  in  agreeable 
contiguity. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Green  returned  to  Manor  Green,  and 
Verdant  realized  that  now  he  was  an  Oxford  Man.  He  im- 
mediately looked  up  his  old  acquaintance,  Charley  Larkyns, 
who  had  been  at  Oxford  some  time. 

Mr.  Charles  Larkyns  had  sporting  tendencies,  as  was 
shown  by  the  ornaments  of  his  room,  the  foils,  boxing-gloves, 


396  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN 

cricket-bats,  tandem  whips,  antlers,  pictures  of  footlight  favor- 
ites, and  other  articles  that  lent  themselves  to  manly  decora- 
tion. There  were  also  one  or  two  suspicious-looking  boxes 
labeled  "Colorado,"  "Regalia,"  "Lukotilla." 

There  was  no  doubt  in  Verdant's  mind  when  he  timidly 
entered  the  room  that  Charley  actually  smoked,  for  a  perfumed 
cloud  was  issuing  from  his  lips  as  he  lolled  on  a  couch  in  the 
neglig^  attire  of  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  with  his  pink 
striped  shirt  comfortably  open  at  the  neck. 

Opposite  him  sat  a  gentleman  who  was  draining  the  last 
drop  from  a  pewter  mug,  and  on  a  table  between  the  two  was 
another  beer-mug  and  a  bottle  of  soda-water. 

At  first  Charley  did  not  recognize  Verdant,  but  when  he  did 
his  reception  was  cordial,  and  he  introduced  him  to  "Mr. 
Smalls,"  the  gentleman  who  had  formerly  had  Verdant's  room. 

Both  men  were  astonished  to  hear  that  Verdant  never  had 
smoked  and  advised  him  to  adopt  the  habit  if  he  intended  to 
be  a  deep  reader,  as  it  was  a  great  help  to  study. 

A  walk  was  proposed,  and  Verdant  was  filled  full  of  "in- 
formation" concerning  the  colleges,  the  dons,  the  proctors,  and 
the  students,  that  was  provocative  of  much  amusement  to  the 
congenial  pair  of  friends,  and  taken  as  gospel  by  the  sapling. 

Upon  his  return  to  his  rooms  the  youth  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  his  mother,  expatiating  on  the  patient  kindness  of  Charley 
and  Mr.  Smalls  in  explaining  so  much  that  was  necessarily 
new  and  strange  to  him.  He  also  (by  the  advice  of  Charley) 
asked  for  a  certificate  that  he  had  been  vaccinated,  as  that  young 
gentleman  had  intimated  that  he  could  not  pass  his  "Little 
Go"  unless  he  were  provided  with  such  a  paper. 

There  was  no  denying  that  there  were  pleasures  connected 
with  college  life,  and  so  far  Verdant  was  rather  glad  that  he  had 
come  down.  The  evening  after  his  meeting  with  Charley  Lar- 
kyns  he  attended  a  "  smoker"  at  the  rooms  of  Mr.  Smalls.  There 
was  much  smoking  and  many  drinks  of  many  kinds,  and  to  his 
own  astonishment  Verdant  soon  found  himself  with  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth  and  a  glass  of  milk-punch  in  his  hand. 

Bashful  as  he  ordinarily  was,  it  was  not  long  before  he  was 
induced  to  sing,  and  in  a  weak  voice  he  caroled  to  them,  "I 
Dreamt  I  Dwelt  in  Marble  Halls."    As  he  sang  his  utterance 


CUTHBERT  BEDE  397 

thickened,  but  he  was  delighted  with  the  vigorous  way  in  which 
all  joined  in  the  chorus,  and  after  a  time  bashfulness  gave  place 
to  assurance  and  he  was  easily  prevailed  upon  to  address  the 
company. 

His  speech  was  remarkable  for  the  way  in  which  the  con- 
sonants became  mixed  and  were  carried  away  by  the  vowels. 

After  making  a  few  unintelligible  sounds,  Verdant  felt  his 
knees  suddenly  give  way,  and  with  a  benevolent  smile  he  dis- 
appeared under  the  table. 

Two  kind  friends  put  "Giglamps"  (as  he  had  been  nick- 
named) to  bed,  and  thus  ended  his  first  convivial  evening. 

He  did  not  care  to  go  to  chapel  next  morning.  His  scout, 
using  an  agreeable  euphemism,  told  him  that  he  had  been 
"pleasant"  the  night  before,  but  when  one  of  his  friends,  little 
Mr.  Bouncer,  came  in  to  see  how  he  was,  he  told  him,  to  his 
intense  mortification,  that  he  had  been  beastly  drunk.  Mr. 
Bouncer,  who  was  a  jolly  little  man,  always  bent  on  turning 
things  upside  down,  if  it  were  possible,  assured  him  that  he 
had  been  all  right  until  Mr.  Slowcoach,  his  tutor,  had  joined 
the  party. 

Mr.  Slowcoach!  To  think  that  he  should  have  seen  him 
in  that  condition!  Of  course  Mr.  Slowcoach  had  not  been  near 
the  scene  of  the  festivities,  but  the  mischievous  Bouncer  had 
alarmed  poor  Verdant  with  his  insinuations. 

"  You  see  what  brought  him  was  your  throwing  empty  beer- 
bottles  at  his  window.  That  would  have  a  tendency  to  arouse 
his  interest.  And  then  when  he  came  in,  you  remember,  you 
wanted  to  have  a  polka  with  him — and  he  doesn't  dance,"  said 
the  incorrigible  joker. 

Visions  of  expulsion  chased  one  another  through  Verdant's 
throbbing  head.  A  way  out  of  it  was  kindly  suggested  by  Mr. 
Bouncer,  who  told  Verdant  that  if  he  wrote  an  extremely  peni- 
tent and  contrite  note  to  Slowcoach,  the  tutor  might  relent 
enough  to  keep  the  matter  from  reaching  the  ears  of  higher 
authorities.  The  note  was  written  and  handed  to  Bouncer, 
and  as  Verdant  was  not  expelled  he  felt  very  grateful  to  his 
kind  friend. 

The  usual  routine  of  lectures  and  study  followed  their  due 
course,  and  Verdant's  innocent  ways,  while  tempting  to  the 


398  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN 

mischievous,  at  the  same  time  won  him  many  friends,  who 
could  not  help  Uking  the  guUible  fellow,  but  who  relaxed  not 
one  jot  of  their  efforts  to  hoax  him. 

Under  Charley  Larkyns's  tutelage  Verdant  ordered  clothing 
of  a  more  fashionable  cut  and  ran  up  a  number  of  bills  in  the 
furnishing  of  his  rooms  with  engravings  and  other  ornaments. 
He  also  learned  how  it  feels  to  be  thrown  by  a  horse,  what  it  is 
to  own  a  dog  that  cannot  kill  rats  and  finally  runs  away  after 
you  have  paid  an  exorbitant  sum  for  him,  and  in  many  ways 
added  to  his  stock  of  an  experience  that  somehow  did  not  teach 
much  discretion. 

He  could  now  smoke  without  evil  consequences,  and  felt 
himself  to  be  more  of  a  man  than  his  mother;  and  so  the  first 
term  passed  and  he  went  home  to  his  adoring  relatives,  where 
he  posed  as  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  shocked  his  maiden  aunt,  and 
made  his  father  and  mother  feel  that  it  was  a  wise  move  to 
send  him  to  college,  since  he  seemed  to  have  learned  so  much. 

Upon  Verdant's  return  to  the  University,  it  became  his 
pleasure  to  hoax  freshmen  even  as  he  had  been  hoaxed,  but  it 
is  doubtful  whether  any  among  them  were  quite  as  credulous 
as  he  had  been.  His  gullibility  was  likely  to  pass  into  a  college 
tradition. 

He  was  now  firm  friends  with  Larkyns,  Bouncer,  Smalls, 
and  a  number  of  other  genial  men  with  kindred  tastes,  and  life 
at  college  was  not  all  a  "  grind." 

One  of  the  most  memorable  evenings  of  his  second  term  was 
an  occasion  when  he  took  part  in  a  Town  and  Gown  riot  (against 
his  will  at  the  outset,  but  coached  by  excitement  into  becoming 
an  adversary  of  some  worth). 

In  this  fight  Larkyns  et  al.  received  the  help  of  no  less  a 
person  than  the  Putney  Pet,  a  prize-fighter  of  prowess  who 
had  been  hired  for  the  occasion,  and  who  had  been  induced  to 
don  a  mortar-board,  although  he  balked  at  the  gown  as  being 
in  the  way. 

Many  were  the  cracked  heads  and  tapped  noses  that  eve- 
ning, and  when  the  fight  was  at  its  height  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Tozer  of  the  University  took  an  involuntary  part  in  it  and  was 
saved  from  a  knock-out  blow  at  the  hands  of  a  Townsman  by 
the  same  Putnev  Pet. 


CUTHBERT   BEDE  399 

Being  a  strict  disciplinarian,  Mr.  Tozer  had  called  the  low- 
browed gentleman  to  task  for  appearing  on  the  streets  without 
his  gown. 

"I  ax  your  pardon,  guv'nor!"  replied  the  Pet,  deferentially, 
"I  didn't  so  much  care  about  the  mortar-board,  but  I  couldn't 
do  nothin'  nohow  with  the  other  thing,  so  I  pocketed  him;  but 
some  cove  must  have  gone  and  prigged  him,  for  he  ain't  here." 

Owing  to  the  darkness  Mr,  Tozer  did  not  see  the  tale-telling 
features  of  the  bruiser,  and  he  angrily  replied  that  he  did  not 
understand  his  foolish  talk  and  would  like  him  to  confine  him- 
self to  English. 

Then  the  truth  came  out,  and  the  pacified  Mr.  Tozer  said: 
"Well,  well!  you  have  used  your  skill  very  much  to  our  advan- 
tage, and  displayed  pugilistic  powers  not  unworthy  of  the 
athletes  and  xystics  of  the  noblest  days  of  Rome.  As  a  pales- 
trite  you  would  have  gained  palms  in  the  gymnastic  exercises 
of  the  Circus  Maximus.  And  now,  go  home,  sir,  and  resume 
your  customary  head-dress:    and  stay!  here's  five  shillings," 

This  so  pleased  the  somewhat  mystified  Pet  that  he  handed 
the  reverend  gentleman  one  of  his  professional  cards. 

After  the  fight  there  was  a  jovial  supper-party  in  the  prin- 
cipal room  at  "The  Roebuck,"  and  the  Pet  was  given  a  place 
of  honor  and  toasted  and  cheered  by  all  present  in  a  man- 
ner to  disperse  the  doubts  of  anyone  as  to  undergraduate 
enthusiasm. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tozer  did  not  form 
one  of  this  roistering  company,  but  Verdant  Green  did,  and 
enjoyed  the  occasion  as  well  as  any,  in  spite  of  the  patch  of 
brown  paper,  perfumed  with  vinegar,  that  indicated  where  he 
had  met  with  punishment  in  the  long-to-be-remembered  fight 
between  Town  and  Gown. 

During  his  second  term  Verdant  made  adequate  progress 
in  his  studies,  but  the  outdoor  sports  interested  him  most,  al- 
though candor  compels  the  statement  that  he  did  not  excel  in 
one  of  them.  His  horseback  rides  always  invited  disaster,  and 
disaster  always  accepted  the  invitation;  his  rowing  was  a  sight 
for  those  whose  risibles  needed  exercise;  and  altogether  he 
continued  to  be  the  same  guileless,  amiable,  lovable  nincom- 
poop that  he  was  at  the  beginning  of  this  veracious  history. 


400  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN 

At  Christmas  there  were  dehghtful  doings  down  at  Manor 
Green,  for  Charley  Larkyns  had  invited  little  Bouncer  down, 
and  there  were  also  two  lovely  girls  from  the  north  country,  the 
sisters  Honeywood. 

Verdant  found  the  younger,  Miss  Patty,  to  be  quite  the 
most  adorable  creature  he  had  ever  known,  and,  while  Christ- 
mas holidays  were  always  delightful,  these  Christmas  holidays 
were  made  ever  memorable  by  the  advent  of  the  rosy-cheeked 
girl  from  the  northern  borders. 

The  Christmas  vacation  passed  all  too  quickly,  and  Ver- 
dant once  more  sought  the  classic  shades  of  Oxford.  Charley 
Larkyns  was  going  in  for  a  degree,  so  he  burned  oil  at  midnight 
more  often  than  formerly;  but  neither  Verdant  nor  Bouncer 
used  their  oil  for  studious  purposes,  and  they  contrived  to  have 
many  a  merry  evening  together.  Verdant  was  still  Green,  but 
Green  was  not  quite  as  verdant  as  he  had  been.  He  was  never 
above  learning,  and  as  his  learning  was  always  attended  by 
amusement  on  the  part  of  the  spectators,  he  always  found  those 
who  were  willing  to  coach  him.  So  he  learned  to  skate,  and 
described  many  strange  figures  in  the  air  rather  than  on  the  ice; 
he  also  kept  up  his  horseback  exercise,  without  ever  being  mis- 
taken for  a  centaur. 

After  Easter  vacation  Verdant  was  fortunate  enough  to  get 
through  his  "smalls,"  while  Charley  Larkyns  won  the  Chan- 
cellor's prize  for  a  Latin  essay  and  the  Newdigate  prize  for 
English  verse. 

But  little  Bouncer,  in  spite  of  an  ingenious  system  of  cards 
worn  upon  his  person  and  decorated  with  answers  to  the  ques- 
tions in  his  examinations,  was  ignominiously  "plucked,"  and 
his  boisterous  spirits  were  dampened  for  nearly  a  day. 

Commemoration  Day  came  in  due  time,  and  Verdant  was 
chosen  as  prompter  for  Charley  Larkyns  when  he  came  to  de- 
liver his  prize  poem;  but  luckily  enough  Charley  did  not  need 
a  prompter,  for  Verdant  was  far  too  nervous  to  render  him  any 
assistance. 

After  Commemoration  came  more  vacation,  and  an  event 
to  which  Verdant  had  looked  forward  for  weeks — a  visit  to 
Honeywood  Hall,  in  the  County  of  Northumberland,  where 
dwelt  the  adorable  Patty.     Not  only  were  Verdant  and  his 


CUTHBERT  BEDE  401 

sisters  going,  but  Charley  Larkyns  and  little  Bouncer  and  his 
sister  Fanny  were  of  the  party- 
It  was  a  merry  company,  and  not  the  less  merry  for  the 
presence  of  Bouncer;  but  with  every  revolution  of  the  car- 
wheels  Verdant's  heart  beat  faster  as  he  reflected  that  in  a  few 
hours  he  would  gaze  on  the  dearest  face  in  all  Christendom  and 
feel  the  pressure  of  the  most  thrilling  hand  in  the  world.  But 
with  all  his  ardor,  doubt  and  mistrust  of  himself  kept  steady 
pace.  It  was  not  likely  that  so  fascinating  a  young  woman  as 
Patty  would  ever  deign  to  look  at  him  in  any  way  save  as  a 
friend. 

Oh,  the  delights  and  the  tortures  of  first  love!  Verdant 
was  in  a  heavenly  hell  from  which  he  hardly  dared  wish  to  be 
delivered. 

At  last  they  reached  Honeywood  Hall,  and  he  saw  Patty, 
saw  Charley  take  upon  himself  the  cousinly  privilege  of  kissing 
her,  and  then  he  himself  shook  hands  with  her — and  was 
superlatively  happy. 

Many  were  the  hospitalities  lavished  upon  the  guest  from 
the  South  by  the  Northrons,  but  opportunity  did  not  come  for 
Verdant  to  be  alone  with  Patty  until  one  happy  day  when  the 
bright  sunshine  was  reflected  in  Miss  Patty's  bright-beaming 
face,  and  Mr.  Verdant  Green  found  himself  wandering  forth 
with  her  "all  in  the  blue,  unclouded  weather." 

Miss  Patty  sketched,  and  she  had  asked  Verdant  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  ruined  church  of  Lasthope,  about  two  miles 
distant  from  the  Hall. 

She  had  made  her  outline  of  the  scene,  and  was  prepar- 
ing to  wash  it  in  (conversing  most  entertainingly  the  while), 
when  to  Verdant's  terror  and  amazement  he  saw  a  huge  bull 
stealthily  approaching  the  seated  figure  of  the  unconscious 
young  lady. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  proved  that  he  was 
a  man,  after  all.  Quietly,  with  no  indication  of  the  fear  he  felt 
for  her,  he  said  to  Patty:  "Don't  be  frightened — there  is  no 
danger — but  there  is  a  bull  coming  toward  us.  Walk  quietly 
to  that  gate,  and  don't  let  him  see  that  you  are  afraid  of  him. 
I  will  take  off  his  attention  till  you  are  safe  at  the  gate,  and  then 
I  can  wade  through  the  Swirl  and  get  out  of  his  reach." 

A.D.,  VOL.  II. — 26 


402  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN 

Patty,  though  loath  to  leave  her  escort  behind,  was  prevailed 
upon  to  seek  a  place  of  safety,  and  then  Verdant,  arming  him- 
self with  a  stone,  watched  his  chance  and  hit  the  bull  full  in  the 
nose.  The  indignant  animal,  which  had  been  pursuing  Patty, 
turned  his  attention  to  Verdant,  but  that  young  man,  cool- 
headed  for  once,  waited  until  the  bull  was  almost  on  him  and 
then  threw  his  coat  upon  his  horns.  The  bull,  blinded  by  the 
coat,  was  temporarily  checked,  and  while  he  made  havoc  with 
the  garment,  the  delay  enabled  Verdant  to  reach  the  bank  of 
the  Swirl.  But  it  is  likely  that  the  bull  would  have  overtaken 
him  had  not  Patty's  cries  brought  farm  laborers  to  the  scene. 
They  attacked  the  bull  with  spades,  and  in  a  short  time  he  was 
subdued  and  led  to  the  bull-house. 

Verdant  was  Patty's  deliverer,  and  as  such  was  fully  appre- 
ciated by  her.  She  looked  upon  him  as  a  Bayard  who  had 
chivalrously  risked  his  life  in  behalf  of  a  lady. 

Most  important  in  its  bearing  on  Verdant' s  suit  was  an 
interview  that  he  had  with  Patty  as  they  sat  on  the  trunk  of  an 
apple-tree  that  formed  a  natural  seat  about  two  feet  from  the 
ground,  an  excellent  place,  as  Patty  said,  for  the  telling  of 
secrets,  being  put  to  that  use  by  her  sister  and  herself. 

Such  pleasant  contiguity  made  even  the  timid  Verdant 
think  that  it  was  a  time  most  propitious  for  him  to  say  words 
of  greater  weight  than  any  he  had  ever  used  lips  to  form. 

She  said:  "It's  very  hot,  don't  you  think?" 

He  answered:  "How  very  odd.     I  was  thinking  the  same." 

"I  think  I  shall  take  my  hat  off — it  is  so  warm.  Dear  me! 
how  stupid!  the  strings  are  in  a  knot." 

"Let  me  see  if  I  can  untie  them  for  you." 

"Thanks,  no,  I  can  manage."     (But  she  could  not!) 

He  tried  to  help  her,  his  fingers  accidentally  touched  her 
chin,  and  he  received  a  shock  as  from  a  highly  charged  elec- 
trical machine. 

The  conversation  was  for  a  little  longer  not  particularly  to 
the  point.  Verdant  found  it  necessary  to  say  "It's  hot"  more 
than  once,  and  Patty  said  that  it  was  pleasanter  there  than  in 
the  sun. 

After  a  time  he  became  bold  enough  to  place  his  arm  behind 
her  in  order  to  keep  her  from  falling  off  the  seat.     She  allowed 


CUTHBERT  BEDE  403 

him  to  do  this,  and  at  last  he  said  in  a  faltering  tone,  "I  wonder 
how  much  you  like  me — very  much?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  tell — how  should  I?  What  strange  ques- 
tions you  ask.  You  saved  my  life;  so  of  course  I  am  very, 
very  grateful,  and  I  hope  I  shall  always  be  your  friend." 

"Yes,  I  hope  so  indeed — always — and  something  more. 
Do  you  hope  the  same?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  Hadn't  we  better  go  back  to  the 
house?" 

"Not  just  yet — it's  so  cool  here — at  least,  not  cool  exactly, 
but  hot — pleasanter,  that  is — much  pleasanter  here.  I  always 
feel  hot  when  I'm  out-of-doors." 

"Then  we'd  better  go  indoors." 

"Pray  don't — not  yet — do  stop  a  little  longer." 

And  the  hand  that  had  been  on  the  bough  of  the  tree 
timidly  seized  Miss  Patty's  arm. 

"But,"  said  the  young  lady,  as  she  felt  the  pressure  of  the 
hand,  "but  it's  not  necessary  to  hold  me  a  prisoner." 

"It's  you  that  hold  me  a  prisoner!"  said  Mr.  Verdant  Green, 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm  and  blushes,  and  a  great 
stress  upon  the  pronouns. 

And  then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  tell  his  love,  there  was  a 
perfume  of  tobacco,  and  the  horrid  voice  of  Mr.  Bouncer  said : 

"Holloa,  Giglamps!  Been  looking  for  you  everywhere. 
Luncheon's  been  on  the  table  more  than  an  hour.  Miss  Honey- 
wood." 

Of  course  Verdant  took  early  opportunity  to  tell  Bouncer 
how  he  had  spoiled  the  most  precious  moment  of  his  life,  and 
of  course  the  good-natured  Bouncer  was  exceedingly  sorry,  but 
that  opportunity  was  gone  forever. 

To  Honeywood  Hall  came  two  unpleasant  things  not  long 
after  the  episode  on  the  tree- trunk:  a  Mr.  Frederick  Delaval 
and  Jealousy.  Delaval  was  a  cousin  of  Patty's,  but  that  fact, 
while  it  gave  him  a  right  to  kiss  her,  need  not  have  given  him  a 
right  to  monopolize  her  company  quite  as  much  as  he  did  un- 
less they  pretty  well  understood  each  other. 

Verdant  was  heart-broken,  and  yet  was  so  frank  that  he  could 
not  hate  the  debonair  Delaval,  and  speedily  became  very  good 
friends  with  him. 


404  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  VERDANT  GREEN 

At  a  picnic  a  gipsy  read  Miss  Patty's  fortune  in  such  a 
manner  and  with  so  many  veiled  sayings  that  seemed  to  point 
directly  at  Delaval  that  Verdant  was  sure  they  were  engaged, 
and  he  was  betrayed  into  saying  to  Patty,  who  had  rallied  him 
on  his  seriousness  and  had  asked  him  of  what  he  was  thinking, 
"I  was  thinking  that  Mr.  Delaval  had  proposed  and  had  been 
accepted." 

Miss  Patty  looked  confused  and  surprised. 

"I  see  that  it  is  so,"  he  sighed,  and  his  heart  sank. 

"How  did  you  find  out?"  she  replied.  "It  is  a  secret  for 
the  present,  and  we  do  not  wish  anyone  to  know  of  it." 

"My  dear  Betty,"  said  Frederick  Delaval,  who  had  waited 
for  them  to  come  up,  "I  am  dying  to  tell  you  my  fortune.  I 
was  with  Miss  Maxwell  at  the  gipsy  camp,  and  the  old  woman 
described  her  to  me  as  my  future  wife.  The  fortune-teller  was 
slightly  on  the  wrong  track,  wasn't  she?" 

Frederick  Delaval  and  Patty  and  her  sister  Kitty  laughed, 
and  Mr.  Verdant  Green  also  laughed  in  a  very  savage  manner. 

"My  last  hope  is  gone,"  thought  Verdant.  "I  have  now 
heard  my  fate  from  her  own  lips." 

All  hope  seemed  indeed  to  have  gone.  If  English  language 
meant  anything,  Patty  was  engaged  to  Frederick,  and  Verdant 
must  go  through  life  "remote,  unfriended,  solitary,  slow." 

But  the  fates  were  less  disposed  to  laugh  at  the  innocent 
young  man  than  had  been  some  of  his  college  mates,  and  before 
the  picnic  was  ended  Verdant  was  rendered  almost  dizzy  on 
learning  that  he  and  Patty  had  been  having  a  game  of  cross- 
purposes  and  that  the  engagement  of  which  he  must  not  speak 
was  that  between  Delaval  and  Patty's  sister,  Kitty. 

And  then — they  were  sitting  shielded  from  the  sun's  rays 
under  a  tilt-cart,  while  one  of  the  picnickers  was  singing  num- 
berless verses  of  an  inane  song — in  this  highly  romantic  position 
Verdant  Green  found  the  right  words  to  declare  his  love,  and 
Patty  found  bliss-bestowing  words  to  say  in  return;  and  when 
the  picnic  party  set  out  for  home,  Miss  Patty  Honeywood  could 
exclaim  with  Schiller's  heroine:  "/c/i  hahe  geleht  und  geliehet!'^ 

The  ordeal  of  asking  Patty's  papa  was  safely  passed,  and 
Verdant,  on  promising  to  wait  two  years,  was  allowed  to  become 
her  fiance. 


CUTHBERT   BEDE  405 

While  in  the  North,  Verdant  became  an  expert  horseman 
and  took  many  rides  with  the  lady  of  his  love.  In  fact,  the 
term  "milksop"  never  could  be  applied  again  to  Verdant. 

His  further  adventures  at  Oxford  often  took  the  form  of 
episodes  in  which  he  acted  as  the  dupe,  but  the  bonds  of  friend- 
ship between  him  and  his  fellows  were  ever  more  firmly  united, 
and  at  last  he  found  himself  taking  his  degree  before  them  all, 
with  lovely  Patty  witnessing  his  pride;  and  not  long  after  this 
he  traveled  once  more  to  the  County  of  Northumberland,  there 
to  be  united  to  Patty  for  life. 


HENRY   WARD    BEECHER 

(United  States,  1813-1887) 
NORWOOD   (1867) 

This  story  of  Village  Life  in  New  England  was  its  author's  only  novel. 
Mr.  Beecher  had  been  for  several  years  previously  to  the  Civil  War  a  regular 
contributor  to  the  New  York  Ledger,  and  when,  at  the  close  of  the  great  conflict, 
he  found  himself  at  leisure  to  devote  considerable  time  to  literary  work,  he 
acceded  to  the  request  of  Mr.  Robert  Bonner,  proprietor  and  editor  of  the 
Ledger,  to  furnish  him  a  serial  story.  As  Mr.  Beecher  never  had  turned  his 
attention  to  the  production  of  fiction,  the  task  seemed  at  first  very  difl&cult; 
but  as  the  work  progressed  he  became  deeply  interested  in  his  theme,  in  the 
developm.ent  of  which  he  took  great  delight.  Norwood  was  written  mostly  in 
Peekskill,  New  York,  and  its  author  denominated  it  "a  summer-child,  brought 
up  among  flowers  and  trees";  he  asserted  that  there  was  not  a  single  unpleasant 
memory  connected  with  it.  While  the  work  was  in  preparation  Mr.  Beecher 
said  of  it:  "I  propose  to  make  a  story  which  shall  turn,  not  so  much  on  outward 
action  as  on  certain  mental  and  inward  questions.  I  propose  to  dehneate  a  high 
and  noble  man,  trained  to  New  England  theology.  ...  I  propose  introducing 
a  full  company  of  various  New  England  characters,  to  give  a  real  view  of  the 
inside  of  a  New  England  town,  its  brewang  thought,  its  inventiveness,  its  industry 
and  enterprise,  its  education  and  shrewdness  and  tact." 

Surrounded  by  goodly  hllls,  and  nestling 
close  to  the  Connecticut  River,  lay  the  town  of 
Norwood  with  its  few  thousand  inhabitants.  It 
was  a  typical  New  England  village,  settled  not 
many  years  after  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims, 
and  retaining  in  large  measure  the  manners  and 
morals,  customs  and  religion  of  its  fathers. 

The  place  was  unusual   for  picturesqueness 
and  beauty,  and  it  would  be  safe  to  say  that  no 

fairer  village  ever  glistened  in  the  sunlight  or  hid  itself  under 

arching  elms. 

Abiah  Cathcart,  a  lifelong  resident  of  Norwood,  was  an 

honorable  specimen  of  a  New  England  farmer.     He  possessed 

great  bodily  strength,  calmness,  patience,  and  an  inflexible  will. 

From  his  parents  he  had  received,  in  addition  to  a  healthy 

4o6 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  407 

body,  a  sound  judgment,  habits  of  industry,  a  common-school 
education,  and  a  good  name. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Abiah  had  "bought  his  time"  of  his 
father  for  two  hundred  dollars.  These  were  considered  liberal 
terms  in  the  early  'thirties,  when  this  took  place,  for  a  son's 
services  for  the  three  years  before  his  majority  were  no  small 
part  of  the  working  capital  of  a  farm. 

After  leaving  his  father's  house  Abiah  had  hired  out  as  a 
teamster,  and  by  his  faithful  labor,  thrift,  and  industry  had 
soon  become  independent.  He  had  married  Rachel  Liscomb, 
a  girl  of  fine  traits  and  sterling  character,  who  made  him  an 
admirable  wife. 

At  the  time  of  his  marriage,  Abiah  had  purchased  a  large 
farm,  which,  on  account  of  its  deteriorated  condition  and 
dilapidated  buildings,  he  had  been  able  to  secure  at  a  very  low 
price.  After  his  purchase  he  had  set  to  work  to  bring  his 
property  out  of  the  state  of  chaos  and  decay  in  which  it  was 
enveloped,  and  what  would  have  seemed  an  impossible  task  to 
one  of  less  persistent  nature  had  not  daunted  his  courage. 

Abiah  had  worked  early  and  late  with  untiring  energy,  and 
his  wife,  who  was  his  equal  in  industry  and  frugality,  had  aided 
him  greatly  in  his  struggle. 

In  course  of  time  success  had  crowned  his  labors  and 
he  had  found  himself  the  owner  of  a  prosperous  farm,  which 
was  clear  of  debt  and  returned  him  a  large  revenue.  Sons  and 
daughters  had  been  born  to  him,  only  two  of  whom,  however, 
Alice  and  Barton,  the  two  youngest,  have  to  do  with  this 
narrative. 

Barton  Cathcart  was  a  true  son  of  his  father.  Industry  and 
fidelity  marked  him  from  his  childhood,  and  he  early  mani- 
fested an  ambition  and  tenacity  of  purpose  which  were  remark- 
able in  one  so  young.  At  the  age  of  ten  he  was  ambitious  to 
do  a  man's  work,  and  in  any  labor  that  required  tact  and  quick- 
ness, rather  than  strength,  he  was  fully  the  equal  of  a  grown 
person. 

He  was  eager  to  prove  himself  strong  and  hardy,  rejoicing 
in  the  severest  storms,  and  aspiring  to  the  reputation  of  being 
considered  "a  good  farmer."  His  winters  were  given  to 
schooling,  and  his  father's  example  bred  in  him  a  love  of  read- 


4o8  NORWOOD 

ing.  When  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age  dim  questionings 
began  to  arise  in  his  mind  as  to  how  he  should  spend  his  future 
Hfe,  and  while  a  choice  of  various  careers  floated  before  him, 
the  die  was  cast  by  Rose  Wentworth,  his  childhood's  friend  and 
companion. 

Rose  was  the  doctor's  daughter,  lovely  in  form  and  feature 
as  well  as  in  character,  and  loved  by  all  who  knew  her.  She 
was  just  the  age  of  Barton's  sister  Alice,  and  the  two  girls  had 
grown  up  together  and  were  devoted  friends. 

When  discussing  the  vital  question  of  a  career,  Rose  ex- 
pressed the  opinion  that  to  her  mind  college  was  the  first 
stepping-stone  toward  a  useful  life,  and  Barton,  who  had  not 
thought  of  this  matter  before,  was  impressed  at  once  with  the 
suggestion. 

From  this  time  his  mind  was  filled  with  the  ambition  to  go 
to  college,  and  he  confided  his  hope  to  his  parents,  who  looked 
upon  it  as  a  great  step,  which  should  not  be  taken  lightly  or 
unadvisedly. 

His  father  told  Barton  that  if  he  proved  himself  worthy  of 
this  higher  education  he  would  willingly  indulge  him  in  his  de- 
sire, but  that  he  must  first  perfect  himself  in  some  branch  of 
learning  which  his  parent  should  choose. 

Accordingly,  surveying  was  decided  upon  by  Mr.  Cathcart, 
and  Barton  agreed  to  acquire  as  much  knowledge  as  he  could 
on  that  subject.  He  betook  himself  to  "Uncle  Tommy  Taft," 
who  was  a  retired  sailor,  and  who,  he  felt  sure,  could  give  him 
advice  on  this  subject.  Uncle  Tommy  was  a  good-natured  old 
soul,  beloved  by  all  the  children  in  the  village,  for  in  spite  of  his 
rough  manners  and  outlandish  ways,  he  had  a  warm  heart, 
which  they  did  not  fail  to  appreciate. 

Tommy  had  a  wooden  leg  which  he  addressed  with  the  en- 
dearing epithet  of  "old  Smasher,"  and  the  cheery  old  fellow, 
who  tinkered  and  did  odd  jobs  for  a  living,  was  always  full  of 
quips  and  pranks  and  stories  of  adventure  drawn  from  his  sea- 
faring experiences. 

The  jolly  old  soul  had  a  wink  and  a  word  for  everybody, 
and  his  kind  services  rendered  to  the  children,  and  to  those 
poorer  than  himself,  always  without  compensation,  were  too 
numerous  to  relate. 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  409 

Good  Parson  Buell  sometimes  visited  his  shop  in  the  regu- 
lar rounds  of  parochial  duty  and  tried  to  talk  faithfully  to  him. 

Tommy  would  listen  respectfully  and  then  would  respond 
in  the  following  manner: 

"I  know  that  I  am,  Parson,  a  sinner — an  awful  sinner;  and 
without  excuse.  I  live  below  my  privileges;  I  don't  live  up  to 
my  light  and  knowledge.  To  set  under  such  preachin'  as  I  do, 
Parson  Buell,  and  not  to  be  better'n  I  am,  is  a  great  sin;  and 
I'm  afeerd  that  I  get  harder  and  harder,  and  that  I  am  puttin' 
off  the  day  of  repentance,  and  sinnin'  away  my  opportunities, 
and  wastin'  my  day  of  grace.  It  is  a  surprisin'  thing  in  me!  I 
don't  wonder  that  you  are  alarmed  at  my  case,  Parson,  It  is  a 
very  alarmin'  case — I  know  it  is.  It  has  been  alarmin'  for 
more'n  forty  years.  I  ought  to  repent,  that's  sartain!  Why 
shouldn't  I?  It  is  well  said  that  it  is  time  for  sinners  to  be 
surprised  in  Zion.  The  rest  of  the  varse,  too,  is  very  alarmin'. 
'Who  among  us  shall  dwell  with  devourin'  fire,  and  who  among 
us  shall  dwell  with  everlastin'  burnings?'  It  is  sartinly  time 
that  I  should  repent  of  my  evil  thoughts,  and  my  drinkin',  and 
of  my  swearin',  and  of  my  manifold  evil  ways  and  deeds,  and  I 
hope.  Parson,  you  will  pray  for  me." 

Among  Tommy's  friends  no  one  ranked  higher  than  Bar- 
ton, and  for  him  the  old  man  had  a  feeling  akin  to  worship,  so 
that  when  the  latter  came  to  him  to  confide  his  college  ambi- 
tions he  could  not  disguise  the  regret  awakened  by  the  thought 
of  the  boy's  departure.  His  manner  was  so  new,  and  there  was 
such  a  sort  of  helplessness  in  his  way,  that  Barton  was  affected 
by  it,  and  said: 

"Why,  Tommy,  I  sha'n't  go  this  two  years,  and  I  shall  be 
home  every  vacation,  you  know.  It  is  only  a  few  miles  to 
Amherst,  anyhow." 

"It's  all  right.  If  a  boy's  got  anything  particular  in  him, 
it'll  certainly  git  out,  somehow,  and  it  ain't  much  use  to  try 
to  stop  it.  If  you  do,  it'll  only  twist  it  and  twirl  it,  like  a  seed 
with  a  board  on  it,  that  will  come  up  and  creep  out  sideways, 
and  gits  up  in  spite  of  hindrance,  only  with  a  cruel  crooked 
stem.  I  might  'a  made  a  smart  man  once,  but  they  meddled 
with  me,  and  I  was  fierce — well,  no  matter.  Old  Tommy 
missed  it.     But  you  won't.     You'll  be  all  right,  Barton,  boy! 


4IO  NORWOOD 

On  the  hull,  I'm  glad  of  it.  Folks  that  stay  to  hum  are  like 
coasters — sloops  and  schooners  like,  that  run  along  shore  and 
do  a  peddlin'  business  in  shoal  water.  Folks  that  go  to  college 
are  square-rigged.  They  can  make  long  voyages,  carry  big 
freights,  go  around  the  world  if  they're  mind  to." 

In  course  of  time  Barton  was  ready  to  enter  college.  He  had 
finished  his  preparatory  studies  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  and 
his  scholastic  ability  combined  with  his  athletic  prowess  made 
him  the  pride  of  the  village. 

During  the  last  months  at  home  the  strong  feeling  of  affec- 
tion which  Barton  had  always  entertained  for  Rose  had  been 
steadily  increasing,  and  he  at  last  realized  that  he  felt  for  her  a 
passionate  and  overwhelming  love. 

Feeling  himself  unworthy  of  her,  he  kept  back  the  words  he 
fain  would  have  uttered  during  their  last  evening  together,  but 
confided  his  secret  to  his  mother,  who  urged  him  to  wait  a  little 
longer  before  acquainting  Rose  with  his  feelings. 

During  Barton's  years  at  college  Rose  saw  him  only  at  in- 
frequent intervals,  and  on  these  occasions  Barton's  efforts  to 
conceal  his  true  feelings  caused  him  to  appear  formal  and  cold. 

Rose  found  other  admirers  who  were  not  held  back  by  scru- 
ples of  any  sort,  and  Frank  Esel,  a  handsome  young  artist,  and 
Tom  Heywood,  a  dashing  and  fascinating  Southerner,  both 
aspired  to  her  hand.  But  Rose  did  not  reciprocate  the  affec- 
tion of  either  of  these  suitors,  as  she  reaUzed  that  lying  dormant 
in  her  heart  was  a  deep  love  for  Barton,  waiting  to  be  acknowl- 
edged when  he  should  ask  for  it. 

Barton  was  graduated  from  college  with  highest  honors, 
and  returned  to  his  native  town,  where  he  accepted  the  place 
offered  him  by  the  trustees  to  become  principal  of  the  Norwood 
Academy. 

This  engagement  was  gratifying  to  him  in  every  respect, 
as  he  was  glad  to  spend  a  few  years  in  teaching  before  deciding 
on  his  life-work,  and  also  it  would  keep  him  near  Rose.  He 
found,  however,  to  his  consternation,  that  he  had  apparently  a 
dangerous  rival  in  Tom  Heywood,  and  he  seriously  considered 
questioning  him  in  regard  to  his  intentions. 

During  this  period  of  uncertainty  Barton  kept  away  from 
Rose,  thereby  causing  her  to  wonder  at  his  indifference.     He 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  411 

finally  decided  to  go  West  on  a  business  venture,  and  leave  the 
field  to  Heywood  for  a  time,  thinking  that  this  method  of  pro- 
cedure would  bring  matters  to  a  crisis. 

Accordingly,  he  slipped  away  without  even  bidding  good-by 
to  Rose,  who,  though  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  be- 
havior, did  not  waver  in  her  allegiance  to  him. 

Meanwhile  Alice  Cathcart  had  found  her  heart  going  out  to 
the  handsome  young  Southerner,  though  she  fully  understood 
that  his  interest  was  centered  in  Rose. 

One  day,  while  the  young  people  were  on  a  nutting  ex- 
cursion, Heywood  slipped  through  a  crevasse  and  was  picked 
up  unconscious  and  with  a  broken  leg.  He  was  carried  to  the 
Cathcart  farm,  where  he  was  nursed  through  his  illness  and 
convalescence  by  Mrs.  Cathcart  and  Alice,  the  latter  finding 
her  happiest  hours  when  seated  by  his  bedside. 

Heywood,  on  his  part,  began  to  appreciate  the  attractions  of 
his  shy,  brown-eyed  companion,  but  before  he  was  aware  of 
any  serious  feelings  rumors  of  war  called  him  back  to  the  South. 

The  echo  of  the  guns  that  fired  on  Fort  Sumter  was  heard 
in  the  quiet  town  of  Norwood,  and  the  loyal  citizens  of  that 
place  immediately  organized  their  militia  and  set  out  on  the 
march  to  the  front. 

Barton,  who  had  returned  from  the  West  a  few  weeks  previ- 
ously, was  put  in  command  of  a  company  and  departed  at  the 
first  call.  He  had  reached  Norwood  in  time  to  cheer  with  his 
presence  the  death-bed  of  Tommy  Taft,  which  old  friend  had 
felt  that  he  could  not  die  content  without  seeing  his  much- 
loved  Barton  once  again. 

Before  departing  for  the  seat  of  war.  Barton  wrote  a  letter 
to  Rose,  who  was  absent  on  a  visit,  telling  her  of  the  deep  feel- 
ing he  cherished  for  her  in  these  words: 


"  To-day  I  leave  for  the  field  upon  a  sudden  siunmons.  My  whole  soul  con- 
sents. I  was  never  more  cheerful.  But  a  single  shadow  lies  upon  me.  At  last 
let  me  speak  plainly,  Rose.  I  am  sad  at  leaving  you,  whom  I  love  more  than 
father  and  mother,  or  all  besides.  This  will  surprise  you,  but  it  is  no  sudden 
experience.     It  has  been  the  secret  of  my  Kfe. 

"Only  within  the  year  have  I  been  in  circumstances  to  justify  me  in  an 
honorable  soUcitation.  But  a  shadow  fell  upon  me.  Another  came  before  me. 
Pardon  me!  I  would  not  speak  of  it,  but  I  may  never  return,  and  for  our  child- 
hood friendship's  sake  you  will  indulge  me  in  the  sad  pleasure  at  last  of  speaking 
out  my  heart. 


412  NORWOOD 

"  If  only  I  knew  that  your  interest  was  with  another,  all  struggle  would  cease. 
Your  happiness  would  shed  some  faint  joy  on  my  disappointment.  I  know  not 
whether,  even  if  you  were  free,  you  could  love  me.  Have  I  said  too  much?  It 
is  as  nothing  to  the  unsaid.  The  silence  of  my  heart  through  years  now  yearns 
for  an  expression.  Only  let  me  hear  one  word  from  you;  if  not  in  Boston,  then 
at  Washington.  I  pray  you  do  not  send  me  to  the  war  without  a  word  to  say 
that  you  are  not  offended — to  say  more  would  be  a  joy  too  great  to  hope!  But 
let  me  not  go  in  the  chill  of  utter  silence. 

"Barton." 

This  letter  he  hastily  folded,  and,  being  obliged  to  trust 
it  to  a  messenger,  put  it  into  the  hands  of  black  Pete,  whom 
he  charged  to  deliver  it  safely. 

"Sawmill  Pete,"  as  this  individual  was  usually  called,  was 
a  well-known  character  in  Norwood.  He  was  colossal  in  size 
and  strength,  overflowing  with  good  nature,  and  spent  his  time 
doing  odd  jobs  instead  of  devoting  himself  to  any  regular  labor. 
He  had  been  the  friend  of  Barton  and  Rose  from  their  earliest 
days,  and  as  children  they  never  were  happier  than  when  learn- 
ing about  the  trees  and  flowers  from  Sawmill  Pete. 

One  weakness  Pete  had  which  is  common  to  many,  and  that 
was  his  fondness  for  liquor,  but  fortunately  it  assailed  him  only 
at  infrequent  intervals,  and  at  other  times  he  was  thoroughly 
trustworthy  and  reliable. 

On  the  night  that  Pete  took  Barton's  letter  he  found  him- 
self surrounded  by  many  temptations,  numerous  treats  were 
offered  him  by  men  who  were  to  set  out  for  the  scene  of  war  the 
following  day,  and  he  could  not  fail  to  respond  to  their  ad- 
vances. 

By  the  time  that  evening  had  waned  Pete's  brain  had  be- 
come somewhat  hazy,  but  he  did  not  forget  Barton's  commis- 
sion, and  delivered  to  Dr.  Wentworth  a  note  which  he  thought 
the  correct  one. 

But  this  note  was  only  a  business  communication  intended 
for  Barton's  father,  which  the  doctor  promptly  forwarded  to  its 
rightful  owner.  The  note  addressed  to  Rose  never  reached 
its  destination,  but  was  accidentally  tossed  by  Pete  into  the  fire 
with  some  other  crumpled  papers,  when  he  was  clearing  out 
his  pockets  the  following  morning. 

Rose  returned  from  her  visit  just  after  Barton  and  his  men 
had  taken  their  hurried  departure,  and  found  it  impossible  to 
conjecture  any  reason  why  he  should  leave  her  a  second  time 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  413 

without  a  word  of  farewell;  she  tried,  however,  to  console  her- 
self with  the  thought  that  there  must  have  been  some  good  rea- 
son for  his  having  done  so. 

While  the  men  of  Norwood  were  giving  their  lives  and  their 
services  to  their  country,  the  faithful  women  at  home  were 
doing  everything  in  their  power  to  assist  in  the  great  struggle. 

Rose  worked  for  the  soldiers  unceasingly,  but  was  not  satis- 
fied with  these  slight  tasks,  for  she  longed  to  go  to  the  front  as 
a  nurse,  and  begged  her  father  to  accede  to  her  wish. 

The  death  of  her  brother  Arthur,  on  the  battle-field,  awak- 
ened the  conviction  in  her  mind  that  in  this  course  lay  her 
duty;  and  her  father,  feeling  at  last  that  she  was  called  to  this 
noble  mission,  gave  his  consent.  Accordingly,  after  some 
months  spent  in  preparation  and  study.  Rose  set  out  for  Wash- 
ington accompanied  by  Agate  Bissell,  who  had  been  the  Went- 
worths'  faithful  housekeeper  and  friend  for  many  years. 

Alice  Cathcart  also  was  filled  with  a  burning  desire  to  aid 
in  this  work,  and  after  gaining  her  parents'  consent  she  joined 
Rose  in  this  labor  of  love.  The  two  girls  were  never  separated ; 
they  worked  together,  traveled  together,  slept  together,  and 
were  equally  admired  and  beloved  by  the  soldiers  to  whom  they 
ministered. 

Alice  Cathcart  was  not  less  patriotic  in  her  feelings  than 
Rose,  but  for  some  reason  she  added  to  these  generous  impulses 
a  peculiar  pity  and  tenderness  toward  the  sick  and  wounded 
rebel  prisoners. 

Her  thoughts  continually  turned  to  Heywood,  who  was 
fighting  for  the  Confederacy,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  heart 
was  not  in  the  cause,  for  his  judgment  and  reason  told  him 
that  the  Northerners  were  right  in  this  great  conflict. 

After  several  months  of  service  in  the  Washington  hospitals, 
Rose  and  Alice  returned  to  their  homes  for  a  period  of  rest ;  but 
before  this  time  had  elapsed  they  were  impatient  to  be  back  at 
their  labors,  and  returned  to  their  work  in  time  to  enter  the 
campaign  of  Chancellorsville. 

This  campaign  opened  in  May,  1863,  and  Barton  Cathcart 
(who  had  been  advanced  to  the  rank  of  general),  learning  of  his 
sister's  presence,  immediately  sought  her  out  and  had  an  af- 
fectionate meeting  with  her,  but  missed  seeing  Rose  Wentworth, 


414  NORWOOD 

who  was  at  that  time  temporarily  employed  in  the  transport 
service.  But  just  before  the  great  battle  of  Gettysburg  these 
two  lovers,  between  whom  existed  such  a  complete  misunder- 
standing, had  a  sudden  and  unexpected  meeting.  It  was  only 
for  a  passing  moment,  and  but  few  words  were  exchanged  be- 
tween them,  yet  as  they  stood  together  Barton  fixed  upon  Rose 
a  look  so  full  of  inquiry,  so  imploring  and  hungry,  so  full  of 
eagerness  and  helplessness,  that  Rose  never  forgot  it. 

During  the  terrible  scenes  that  followed  Rose  and  Alice 
worked  tirelessly,  and  when  after  days  and  nights  of  almost  con- 
tinual service  Rose  was  questioned  as  to  how  she  could  endure 
so  much  and  hold  out  so  long,  she  responded,  "God  gave  me 
strength  according  to  my  need." 

During  one  terrible  charge,  in  which  the  Union  troops  were 
led  by  Barton,  Alice  recognized  Tom  Heywood  in  the  opposing 
army,  and  her  grief  and  fear  lest  he  should  be  killed  knew  no 
bounds.  The  following  morning  Alice  was  up  before  dawn, 
searching  with  anxious  foreboding  for  some  news  of  Heywood. 
To  her  horror,  she  suddenly  came  upon  his  dead  body,  and 
the  shock  was  so  great  that  she  was  bewildered,  and  could  not 
believe  as  she  gazed  upon  his  noble  face  that  its  calmness  was 
more  than  that  of  sleep. 

"Speak  to  me!"  she  cried.  "Do  wake!  It  is  Alice — Alice 
Cathcart!  O  Heywood,  I  would  speak  to  you  if  it  were  I 
lying  so!    He  is  not  dead!    It  cannot  be  death!" 

Then,  looking  long  and  wildly,  as  a  child  looks  shudderingly 
into  some  dark  room  at  night,  she  lowered  her  voice  and  said 
in  a  hoarse  whisper: 

"  He  is  dead !     O  God,  take  me ! " 

Already  the  light  seemed  vanishing  and  Alice  fell  fainting 
upon  Heywood's  breast.  At  last  she  had  found  on  his  bosom 
a  brief  rest  of  love. 

Thus  she  was  found  by  Hiram  Beers,  an  old  Norwood 
friend,  who  lifted  her  up  tenderly  and  gave  her  what  comfort 
he  could. 

Alice  returned  to  the  hospital,  arranged  her  apparel  with 
more  than  common  care,  and  stepped  forth  calmly  but  firmly 
to  her  merciful  duties.  Her  face  was  serene  but  without 
smiles.     Her  care  and  pity,  always  striking,  had  in  them  now 


HENRY   WARD   BEECHER 


415 


an  austere  tenderness  that  struck  the  rudest  men  with  awe  and 
admiration,  as  if  an  inspired  priestess  were  among  them.  Nor, 
to  the  end,  did  AUcc  ever  mention  Heywood's  name,  nor  for 
one  waking  hour  did  she  ever  forget  it ! 

After  the  third  day  of  Gettysburg,  which  brought  victory  to 
the  Northern  troops.  Rose  received  a  letter  from  Barton  which 
was  brought  to  her  by  Hiram  Beers,  with  the  sad  tidings  that 
General  Cathcart  had  fallen  in  the  battle  and  that  no  trace  of 
him  could  be  found. 

Rose  took  the  letter  and  read: 

"  I  have  a  presentiment,  Rose,  I  feel  that  evil  will  befall  me  to-morrow.  If 
you  get  these  lines  I  shall  have  fallen,  and  my  words  will  be  forgiven  as  of  one 
dead.  Rose,  I  have  tried  to  conquer  that  love  which  has  so  taken  possession  of 
my  life  as  to  overcome  all  other  feelings.  As  early  as  I  can  remember,  I  loved 
you.  It  has  grown  with  my  manhood.  It  is  a  part  of  my  being.  Not  to  love 
you  would  be  not  to  be  myself.  When  I  told  you  all  this,  on  leaving  home,  I 
had  hoped  for  some  sympathy;  I  pleaded  for  only  a  word.  My  letter  was  not 
answered  or  noticed.  Perhaps  your  silence  was  best.  It  was  hard  to  bear.  If 
I  could  have  ceased  loving,  I  could  have  conquered  the  pain  of  the  refusal 
which  you  gave  by  silence.  It  will  not  be  a  trouble  to  you  any  longer  to  know 
that  a  heart  has  loved  you  beyond  every  other  thing.  My  latest,  strongest 
feeling.  Rose,  is  love  for  you!  My  last  wishes  and  prayers  invoke  blessings  on 
you!  I  go  toward  darkness;  but  there  is  a  Hght  beyond.  In  heaven,  O  Rose, 
in  heaven,  I  shall  meet  you,  and  say  'I  love  you!'  without  fear  of  repulse. 

"Barton  Cathcart." 

Rose  stood  silent  and  motionless.  Amazement,  sorrow, 
and  joy  filled  her  heart.     She  whispered  to  herself: 

"He  loved  me!  He  loved  me  always! — best! — to  the  last! 
He  told  me  of  it!  When?  what  letter?  There  has  been  some 
dreadful  mistake!  And  he  will  never  know  that  I  loved  him 
more!  Noble  soul,  if  thou  art  in  heaven,  God  will  tell  thee 
how  thou  art  loved! — ^And  he  wrote  to  me!  wrote  to  tell  me  all 
this  when  first  leaving  Norwood?  Where  is  that  treacherous 
letter  that  did  not  fulfil  its  message?" 

Rose  then  called  Alice  and  broke  the  sad  news  to  her;  but 
while  she  did  so  her  mood  seemed  exalted,  as  in  her  sorrow 
she  was  filled  with  an  overmastering  joy,  and  she  could  triumph 
in  the  knowledge  of  Barton's  undying  love. 

Alice  saw  in  Rose's  experience  a  great  contrast  to  the  one 
that  had  come  to  her,  as  her  one  desire  had  been  for  Heywood's 
love,  and  that  longing  must  forever  remain  ungratified. 

After  three  days,  during  which  time  Barton  was  mourned 


4i6  NORWOOD 

as  dead,  news  came  that  he  had  been  picked  up  wounded  on 
the  battle-field  and  taken  prisoner. 

Rose  was  overwhelmed  with  joy  at  the  tidings  that  he  still 
lived,  and  wished  to  go  immediately  to  get  a  pass  that  would 
take  her  through  the  enemy's  lines  so  that  she  might  see  General 
Lee  and  sue  for  Barton's  release. 

Just  as  she  was  departing,  however,  Sawmill  Pete,  who  had 
been  Barton's  faithful  servant  and  ally  through  the  war,  appeared 
on  the  scene  with  the  further  information  that  Barton  was 
among  friends,  but  was  seriously  wounded  and  lying  very  near 
death. 

Rose,  accompanied  by  her  father,  who  had  recently  re- 
sponded to  the  call  for  surgeons,  set  out  at  once,  guided  by  Pete, 
for  Barton's  bedside.  They  found  him  in  the  home  of  a  kind 
family  named  Hetherington,  where  he  had  been  carried  by  the 
faithful  Pete,  who  had  journeyed  for  miles  wdth  Barton  in  his 
arms  after  rescuing  him  from  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Barton  hovered  for  some  days  between  life  and  death,  but 
at  last  consciousness  returned,  and  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw 
Rose  kneeling  beside  him. 

He  put  his  hand  timidly  out  to  touch  her,  as  if  to  make 
sure  whether  it  was  an  illusion  or  a  reality.  His  hand  was 
clasped  in  both  of  hers.  She  leaned  toward  him.  He  felt  her 
kiss  upon  his  brow.     Slowly  and  with  difficulty  he  spoke: 

"Is — this — Rose? — my  Rose? — I  mean — " 

"Yes,  Barton — your  own  Rose;  you  will  live.  Barton — O 
Barton,  live!  live!"  She  spoke  with  an  intensity  full  of  an- 
guish, for  a  moment  letting  go  restraint. 

He  lay  silent.  His  eyes  were  closed.  In  his  weakness  he 
could  not  keep  back  the  tears  that  would  break  from  under  his 
eyelids.  After  a  moment's  pause.  Barton  raised  his  eyes  to 
Rose  vidth  a  look  of  utter  imploring,  as  if  he  would  say:  "Do 
not  let  me  be  deceived,  nor  send  me  back  again  to  hopelessness." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  gladness  and  love,  if  one  could  have 
seen  them  behind  her  tears. 

"God  has  been  very  gracious  to  us  both.  Barton.  He  has 
brought  us  together,  and  nothing  shall  ever  divide  us  again." 

After  Barton's  wounds  were  healed  and  his  strength  had 
returned,  he  joined  his  corps  again  and  fought  with  them  till 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  417 

the  war  ended,  two  years  later.  Then,  his  duties  over,  he  re- 
turned to  Norwood  and  married  his  beloved  and  faithful  Rose, 
who  had  proved  herself  worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  so  noble. 
The  village  of  Norwood  rejoiced  in  this  happy  event  and 
united  with  enthusiasm  in  the  wedding  festivities  of  these  two 
lovers,  who  had  so  truly  merited  the  love  and  admiration  of 
their  community. 


A.D.,  VOL.  II, — 27 


APHRA   BEHN 

(England,  1640-1689) 
OROONOKO:   OR,   THE  ROYAL   SLAVE   (1658) 

Among  the  many  productions  of  the  proHfic  pen  of  Mrs.  Behn,  this  tale 
occupies  a  unique  place.  Most  of  her  other  works  were  exceedingly  imaginative 
poems,  or  else  novels  and  plays  of  a  very  light  and  somewhat  coarse  character, 
intended  to  amuse  the  fops  and  rakes  of  the  court  of  Charles  II.  But  in  the 
tragic  narrative  of  The  Royal  Slave  she  allowed  the  emotions  of  a  warm  and 
sympathetic  heart  to  pour  themselves  out  freely  in  an  endeavor  to  arouse  public 
indignation  against  the  unspeakable  barbarities  endured  by  the  bondmen  of 
British  Colonies,  chronicUng  in  all  its  horrors,  as  she  does,  the  dreadful  sufferings 
of  one  of  its  most  notable  victims.  In  tracing  the  pedigree  of  modern  "novels 
with  a  pxirpose,"  such  as  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  or  Ramona,  the  moving  tale  of 
Oroonoko  must  be  counted  as  among  the  earliest  of  the  kind.  Its  evident  purpose 
to  awaken  the  Christian  people  of  England  to  the  horrors  of  slavery  in  lands 
under  their  own  government,  and  the  author's  warm  and  womanly  sympathy 
with  the  despised  black  men,  well  justifies  the  compliment  that  has  been  paid 
Oroonoko  of  being  "the  first  humanitarian  novel  in  English."  Moreover,  in  an 
epoch  when  purely  imaginative  romance  was  the  fashion  of  the  day,  Mrs. 
Behn  in  Oroonoko  made  a  noticeable  departure  toward  the  field  of  realism. 
She  assured  her  readers  over  and  over  that  this  pathetic  story  of  the  Royal  Slave 
is  no  invention  of  fancy  but  a  narrative  of  facts.  To  a  great  part  of  these  events 
she  was  an  eye-witness.  For  the  rest,  she  had  the  authority  of  direct  accounts 
received  either  from  the  Royal  Slave  himself  or  from  her  own  personal  friends. 
She  had  herself  seen  and  talked  with  Oroonoko  and  Imoinda,  and  learned  to 
admire  and  esteem  them  and  often  sought  to  befriend  them.  The  most  horrible 
atrocities  of  all,  the  brutalities  attending  Oroonoko's  execution,  had  been  wit- 
nessed by  her  mother  and  sister,  who  had  in  vain  tried  to  save  him.  On  her 
return  to  London  she  put  into  literary  form  the  accounts  of  the  African  hero 
which  she  had  collected  in  Surinam. 


'OROMANTIEN  was  a  part  of  Africa  which  in 
the  seventeenth  century  was  one  of  the  chief  re- 
sorts of  the  slave-traders.  Its  king  was  a  man 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old.  Thirteen  of 
his  sons  had  died  in  battle,  and  he  had  left  for 
a  successor  one  grandchild,  called  Oroonoko. 
This  boy  was  sent  into  the  field  to  be  trained  to 
war  as  soon  as  he  could  bear  a  bow,  and  at 
seventeen  he  became  one  of  the  bravest  and 
most  expert  of  captains. 

When  he  came  back  from  war  victorious,  and  presented  him- 

418 


APHRA  BEHN  419 

self  at  court,  he  became  the  object  of  universal  admiration. 
The  cleverest  sculptor  could  not  form  the  figure  of  a  man  more 
admirably  turned  from  head  to  foot.  His  face  was  a  perfect 
ebony,  his  nose  was  Roman,  and  his  eyes  were  the  most  awe- 
inspiring  that  could  be  seen  and  very  piercing;  the  white  of 
them  being  like  snow;  as  were  his  teeth.  Nor  did  the  per- 
fections of  his  mind  come  short  of  his  person,  for  his  discourse 
was  admirable  upon  almost  every  subject.  He  spoke  English 
and  French  with  ease.  Whoever  had  heard  him  speak  would 
have  been  convinced  of  their  errors  that  all  fine  wit  is  confined 
to  white  men,  and  would  have  confessed  that  Oroonoko  was 
as  capable  of  governing  wisely,  had  as  great  a  soul  and  con- 
ceived as  statesman-like  maxims  as  any  prince  civilized  in  the 
most  refined  schools  of  humanity  or  the  most  illustrious 
courts. 

The  old  General,  who  had  trained  Oroonoko  in  war,  had 
left  at  his  death  an  only  daughter,  Imoinda,  a  beauty  who  was 
the  lovely  black  Venus  to  this  young  Mars,  as  charming  in  per- 
son as  he,  and  of  delicate  virtues.  When  Oronooko  made  his 
first  visit  to  her,  he  was  infinitely  surprised  at  the  beauty  of  this 
charming  Queen  of  Night.  The  lovely  modesty  with  which 
she  received  him,  the  softness  in  her  look  and  sighs  gained  a 
perfect  conquest  over  his  fierce  heart.  Having  made  his  first 
compliments,  and  presented  her  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  slaves 
in  fetters,  he  told  her  with  his  eyes  that  he  was  not  insensible 
of  her  charms.  Imoinda  was  pleased  to  believe  that  she  under- 
stood that  silent  language  of  new-born  love. 

Oroonoko  stayed  not  long  before  he  made  a  second  visit; 
and  waited  not  much  longer  before  he  frankly  told  her  he  adored 
her.  As  he  knew  no  vice,  his  flame  aimed  at  nothing  but  honor. 
Though  in  that  country  men  take  to  themselves  as  many  wives 
as  they  can  maintain,  Oroonoko  made  to  Imoinda  his  vows 
that  she  should  be  the  only  woman  he  would  possess:  that  no 
age  nor  wrinkles  should  incline  him  to  change;  for  her  soul 
would  be  always  fine  and  young  to  him.  After  listening  to  a 
thousand  assurances  of  his  lasting  flame  and  her  eternal  em- 
pire over  him,  she  condescended  to  receive  him  as  her  husband. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  necessary  to  obtain  the  consent  of  the 
old  King,  the  Prince's  grandfather.     But  at  the  report  of  Imo- 


420       OROONOKO:   OR,   THE   ROYAL   SLAVE 

inda's  surpassing  beauty  the  monarch's  aged  heart  felt  new 
sparks  of  love  and  began  to  kindle. 

And  when  the  King,  himself  unseen,  beheld  her  charming 
face,  he  saw  and  burned,  and  would  not  delay  his  happiness. 
No  sooner  had  he  returned  to  his  palace  than  he  sent  to  Imo- 
inda  the  royal  veil,  a  sign  in  that  country  that  "the  maid  who 
receives  it  is  for  the  King's  use  and  'tis  death  to  disobey." 

The  lovely  maiden,  at  this  news,  was  seized  with  grief,  but, 
almost  fainting,  she  was  covered  with  the  veil  and  led  to  court. 
The  King  sat  under  a  canopy  in  state,  in  a  very  rich  bath,  to 
receive  this  longed-for  virgin.  Without  more  courtship,  the 
old  monarch  bade  her  throw  off  her  mantle  and  come  to  his 
arms.  But  Imoinda,  all  in  tears,  threw  herself  on  the  marble 
brink  of  the  bath,  and  tremblingly  told  him  she  was  already 
another's,  through  the  interchange  of  the  most  solemn  vows. 
But  as  she  assured  him  also,  for  fear  of  his  vengeance  upon 
Oroonoko,  that  she  was  still  a  maid,  the  King  put  her  among 
his  other  wives  in  his  Otan  or  seraglio.  Although  forced  at  last 
to  yield  her  lovely  person  to  the  withered  arms  of  the  impotent 
old  King,  she  could  only  sigh  and  weep  there,  and  think  of 
Oroonoko,  and  oftentimes  could  not  forbear  speaking  of 
him. 

Through  the  reports  of  his  officers,  and  the  dissemblance  of 
Oroonoko,  the  King  became  convinced  after  a  time  that  the 
Prince,  his  grandson,  was  no  longer  a  lover  of  Imoinda.  So 
he  took  him  in  his  train  to  the  Otan,  to  banquet  with  his  wives. 
But  when  Oroonoko's  eyes,  instructed  by  his  passionate  heart, 
exchanged  glances  with  Imoinda's  love-darting  orbs,  they  spoke 
so  affectionately  that  she  no  longer  doubted  that  she  was  the 
only  delight  and  darling  of  his  soul. 

The  parley  of  the  eyes  of  these  two  lovers  had  not  passed  so 
secretly  that  an  old  and  jealous  sovereign  could  not  detect  it. 

At  the  entertainment  that  night,  the  royal  ladies  danced  for 
the  diversion  of  the  King.  But  while  Imoinda  was  beholding 
with  infinite  pleasure  the  joy  her  motions  and  graces  produced 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Prince,  regarding  him  too  much,  rather  than 
the  steps  she  took,  she  chanced  to  fall,  and  the  Prince,  leaping 
up  from  the  carpet  where  he  reclined,  clasped  her  close  to  his 
bosom  and  quite  forgot  the  reverence  that  was  due  to  the  mis- 


APHRA   BEHN  421 

tress  of  a  king.  The  monarch,  in  a  jealous  rage,  led  Imoinda 
to  her  apartment  and  ordered  Oroonoko  to  go  to  the  camp. 

But  the  Prince  felt  that  he  could  not  depart  till  he  had  seen 
his  beloved  once  more.  By  the  clever  management  of  his 
friend  Aboan,  assisted  by  a  former  mistress  of  the  old  King, 
Onahal  by  name,  Oroonoko  was  led  through  the  citron-grove 
to  the  apartment  of  Imoinda  in  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Otan. 
The  Prince  softly  awakened  Imoinda,  who  was  surprised  with 
joy,  and  yet  trembled  with  a  thousand  fears.  Beyond  imag- 
ination was  the  satisfaction  of  the  two  young  lovers  thus  to 
meet,  and  beyond  expression  were  the  transports  of  Oroonoko 
as  he  listened  to  the  charming  assurances  that  came  from  the 
lips  of  his  beloved  that  fate  had  allowed  her  to  keep  herself 
for  him  and  him  alone.  Amid  a  thousand  caresses,  both  be- 
moaned the  hard  fate  of  youth  and  beauty.  But  while  they 
were  thus  fondly  employed,  they  heard  a  great  noise  in  the 
Otan.  Spies  had  tracked  the  Prince  to  the  forbidden  quarters 
of  the  seraglio.  Oroonoko  seized  his  battle-ax,  rushed  to  the 
door,  and  with  a  commanding  voice  called  out  that  he,  the 
Prince  Oroonoko,  would  revenge  with  death  the  entrance  of  any 
rude  intruder.  "  Stand  back  and  know  that  this  place  is  sacred 
to  love  and  me  to-night.     To-morrow,  'tis  the  King's!" 

Having  ascertained  the  Prince's  identity,  the  King's  officers 
withdrew,  and  Oroonoko  fled.  The  old  King  bitterly  reproached 
Imoinda,  who,  falling  in  tears  at  his  feet,  implored  his  pardon 
for  a  fault  which  she  had  not  with  her  will  committed.  The 
aged  monarch,  enraged,  ordered  Imoinda  and  her  companion, 
Onahal,  to  be  sold  as  slaves  to  some  other  country,  whether 
Christian  or  heathen  he  cared  not.  This  cruel  sentence,  reck- 
oned in  that  country  as  worse  than  death,  was  immediately  and 
secretly  carried  out,  in  spite  of  the  poor  victim's  prayers,  and 
no  one  within  or  without  the  seraglio  knew  their  fate. 

When  the  King  had  thus  wreaked  his  revenge  on  the  women 
for  the  insult  to  himself,  his  anger  toward  his  grandson  cooled. 
He  sent  word  to  Oroonoko  by  a  messenger  that  Imoinda  was 
dead.  For  two  long  days,  in  the  very  face  of  the  enemy,  Oroo- 
noko lay  prostrate  in  his  tent,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  declar- 
ing that  henceforth  he  would  never  lift  a  weapon  but  would 
abandon  the  small  remains  of  his  hfe  to  sighs  and  tears. 


422        OROONOKO:   OR,  THE   ROYAL   SLAVE 

But  when  his  army  was  driven  back  in  disorder,  he  leaped 
from  his  couch  and  cried:  "Come,  if  we  must  die,  let  us  meet 
death  the  noblest  way!"  That  day  he  performed  such  prodigies 
of  reckless  valor  as  to  change  absolutely  the  fate  of  the  battle. 

After  a  long  time  spent  in  military  campaigns,  the  Prince 
at  last,  in  obedience  to  his  grandfather's  wishes,  returned  to 
court.  There  he  met  for  the  second  time  a  well-bred  sea  cap- 
tain with  whom  he  had  often  trafficked  for  slaves.  The  sea 
captain  entertained  the  Prince  daily  with  globes  and  maps, 
mathematical  discourses  and  instruments,  and  drank  and 
hunted  with  him  with  such  familiarity  that  he  quite  drew  to 
himself  the  heart  of  the  gallant  young  man. 

Before  the  captain  set  sail  he  gave  to  the  Prince  and  his 
train  an  invitation  to  a  grand  banquet  on  his  vessel.  On  board 
ship  th-e  noblest  youths  of  the  court  of  Coromantien  sat  down  to 
a  splendid  feast,  and  were  so  well  plied  with  wines  that,  when 
the  captain  gave  to  his  men  the  signal  agreed  upon,  Oroonoko 
and  all  his  retinue  were  easily  shackled  fast  in  heavy  irons,  and, 
as  the  vessel  sailed  off,  they  found  themselves  in  slavery. 

Oroonoko  raged  and  struggled  like  a  lion  taken  in  toils,  but 
all  in  vain.  And  when  he  found  he  could  not  turn  a  hand 
against  either  his  foes  or  himself,  he  lay  down  and  refused  all 
food,  firmly  resolved  to  die.  The  Prince's  followers,  also,  would 
touch  no  food.  It  seemed  as  if,  through  suicide,  the  captain 
would  lose  most  of  his  slaves.  In  this  predicament  the  captain 
solemnly  promised  the  Prince,  with  many  oaths  and  on  the 
word  of  a  Christian,  that  if  he  would  live  and  show  himself  to 
his  followers,  he  should  be  freed  from  his  shackles,  and  with 
his  friends  should  be  set  ashore  when  next  the  ship  touched. 

The  Prince  gave  his  parole  of  honor  for  his  good  behavior, 
and,  freed  from  his  irons,  was  conducted  to  the  captain's  own 
cabin.  When  he  had  eaten,  he  visited  his  people,  repeating 
the  assurances  of  the  captain,  and  the  rest  of  the  voyage  was 
borne  by  all  in  hope  and  patience. 

But  when  the  ship  reached  the  mouth  of  the  river  of  Surinam, 
a  colony  of  England,  later  known  as  Dutch  Guiana,  Oroonoko 
and  his  noble  attendants  learned  at  once  how  little  trust  could 
be  put  in  any  slave-trader's  oaths.  For  they  found  themselves 
seized  and  sold  as  slaves  to  the  various  merchants  and  over- 


APHRA   BEHN  423 

seers  who  had  come  down  to  meet  the  slave-ship.  It  was  in 
vain  to  make  any  resistance  to  this  base  treachery.  But  with 
such  disdainful  looks  did  Oroonoko  upbraid  the  slave-captain 
that  blushes  rose  to  his  guilty  cheeks;  and  as  the  Prince  passed 
over  the  side  of  the  ship  he  cried:  "Farewell,  sir!  'Tis  worth 
my  sufferings  to  gain  so  true  a  knowledge  both  of  you  and  of 
your  gods  by  whom  you  swear.  Come,  my  fellow-slaves;  let 
us  descend,  and  see  if  we  can  meet  with  more  honor  and  honesty 
in  the  next  world  which  we  shall  touch  upon." 

When  at  length  Oroonoko  had  made  the  journey  up  the 
great  river  to  his  master's  plantation,  and  had  been  conducted 
to  the  quarters  assigned  him  among  the  negroes'  cabins,  the 
slaves,  as  soon  as  they  beheld  him,  recognized  him  as  the  Prince 
who  had  at  various  times  sold  most  of  them  to  the  traders,  and, 
in  accordance  with  the  veneration  which  they  pay  to  their 
great  men,  they  all  cast  themselves  at  his  feet,  crying  out  in 
their  language,  "Long  live,  O  King!"  and  kissing  his  feet,  paid 
him  even  divine  homage.  But  the  Prince,  troubled  with  their 
joy,  bade  them  rise  and  receive  him  as  their  fellow-slave. 

At  a  grand  supper  which  his  fellow-negroes  soon  afterward 
held  in  his  honor,  Oroonoko,  in  the  course  of  conversation, 
heard  the  most  glowing  accounts  of  a  most  charming  black 
woman  who  had  recently  come  to  this  neighborhood.  Clemene, 
as  she  was  called,  had  all  the  slaves  perpetually  at  her  feet,  and 
no  man  of  any  nation  or  color  ever  beheld  her  face  that  did  not 
fall  in  love  with  her.  Clemene  herself  was,  however,  all  ice  and 
unconcern,  and  her  graceful  modesty,  the  most  exquisite  that 
ever  beautified  youth,  seemed  to  fear  that  even  the  breezes 
might  steal  kisses  from  her  delicate  mouth. 

The  next  day,  Oroonoko,  in  the  company  of  his  master, 
met  the  much-praised  Clemene.  Her  eyes,  shyly  bent  on  the 
ground,  gave  the  Prince  the  opportunity  to  take  a  good  look  at 
her  face.  In  a  minute  he  recognized  in  her  his  beloved  Imo- 
inda.  As  she  fell  insensible,  overcome  with  delight,  the  Prince 
caught  her  in  his  arms;  and  it  is  needless  to  tell  with  what 
ecstasies  of  joy  they  beheld  each  other,  without  speaking;  then 
snatched  each  other  to  their  arms;  then  gazed  again,  as  if 
they  still  doubted  whether  they  possessed  the  blessing  they 
grasped,   and  wondered  with   tender   greetings  what  strange 


424       OROONOKO:   OR,   THE   ROYAL   SLAVE 

destiny  had  brought  them  together.  Although  they  bewailed 
their  fate,  at  the  same  time  they  mutually  protested  that  even 
fetters  and  slavery  would  be  supported  with  joy  while  they 
could  be  so  happy  as  to  possess  each  other. 

From  that  happy  day,  Cesar,  as  his  English  master  had 
dubbed  Oroonoko,  took  Imoinda  for  his  wife.  At  the  wedding 
there  was  as  much  magnificence  as  the  country  and  their  con- 
dition would  allow,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Cesar,  as  hence- 
forth he  was  called,  adored  her  still  more,  because  of  her  ap- 
proaching motherhood.  This  new  accident  made  him  more 
impatient  for  liberty;  and  every  day  he  made  an  offer  of  gold 
or  slaves  as  the  price  of  his  freedom. 

From  day  to  day  he  was  fed  with  promise  after  promise  and 
put  off,  till  the  new  Governor  of  Surinam  should  come.  At 
length  he  began  to  fear  that  the  delay  was  a  piece  of  treachery, 
and  that  the  matter  was  purposely  postponed  until  the  birth 
of  the  child,  who  would  also  be  a  slave.  This  thought  made 
him  uneasy  and  sullen.  To  distract  his  attention,  Cesar  was 
diverted  with  sports,  hunting  and  fishing,  and  with  trips  among 
the  Indian  tribes,  in  the  course  of  which  he  performed  most 
notable  feats  in  the  killing  of  fierce  tigers  and  monstrous  snakes. 
Yet  these  were  not  actions  great  enough  for  his  large  soul, 
which  still  panted  for  more  renowned  actions. 

The  fear  and  grief  of  Imoinda  that  she  and  her  child  might 
be  kept  as  slaves  were  like  so  many  darts  in  the  great  heart  of 
Cesar.  So  one  Sunday,  when  all  the  whites  were  overcome 
with  liquor,  Cesar  met  about  three  hundred  of  his  fellow  blacks 
and  made  an  impassioned  harangue  to  them  about  the  igno- 
minies and  drudgeries  of  the  state  of  slavery;  sufferings  fitter 
for  senseless  brutes  than  for  human  souls.  "An  ass  or  a  dog," 
he  said,  "having  done  his  duty,  could  lie  down  in  retreat,  and 
while  he  did  his  duty  endured  no  stripes.  But  men,  such  as 
they,  toiled  through  all  the  tedious  week  till  Black  Friday;  and 
then,  whether  they  were  faulty  or  meritorious,  they  promiscu- 
ously suffered  the  infamous  lash  till  blood  trickled  from  all 
parts  of  their  body.  We  are  bought  and  sold  like  apes  and 
monkeys,  to  be  the  support  of  rogues  and  renegades  who  have 
abandoned  their  own  countries  for  rapine,  murders,  theft,  and 
villanies.     Will  you  suffer  the  lash  from  such  hands?" 


APHRA   BEHN  425 

His  hearers  replied  with  one  accord :  "No!  No!  Cesar  has 
spoken  like  a  great  captain,  like  a  great  king." 

It  was  resolved  by  the  company  to  take  their  wives  and 
children  with  them  and  travel  to  the  sea-shore,  and  when  they 
could  seize  a  ship,  employ  it  to  transport  them  to  their  native 
land.  Even  if  they  died  in  the  attempt,  it  would  be  braver 
than  to  live  in  perpetual  slavery.  With  one  accord  they  vowed 
to  follow  Cesar  even  to  death;  and  that  very  night  they  fur- 
nished themselves  with  arms,  and  began  the  march. 

The  militia  of  the  colony  turned  out  to  pursue  the  rebellious 
slaves.  But  many  of  the  better  sort  sympathized  with  Cesar, 
as  a  man  who  had  been  ill-used;  and  the  white  men  who  en- 
gaged in  the  pursuit  were  armed  only  with  whips,  clubs,  or 
rusty  old-fashioned  swords  and  guns  of  little  use.  In  the  battle 
that  followed,  Cesar  and  some  of  his  followers  fought  most 
valorously.  Imoinda  shot  the  Governor  in  the  shoulder  with 
a  poisoned  arrow — a  wound  so  severe  that  he  barely  escaped 
with  his  life.  But  most  of  the  blacks  proved  a  cowardly  lot, 
by  nature  slaves  and  fit  only  for  white  men's  tools.  The 
women  and  children  lost  all  sense  in  their  great  fear,  and, 
rushing  among  their  own  fighters,  hung  upon  them  and  implored 
them  to  yield.  At  length  a  parley  was  begun,  in  which  Byam, 
the  Governor,  made  the  fairest  promises  that  if  Cesar  would 
surrender  he  and  and  his  family  should  depart  free  out  of  the 
land.  Cesar  at  first  refused,  declaring  that  there  was  no  faith 
in  the  white  men  or  the  gods  they  adored. 

"Though  no  people  profess  so  much  as  the  Christians,"  he 
said,  "none  perform  so  little.  When  I  deal  with  men  of  honor 
I  know  what  I  have  to  do,  but  with  the  whites  a  man  ought  to 
be  continually  on  his  guard." 

But  the  solicitations  of  his  followers  and  friends  were  so 
great,  and  the  Governor  spoke  him  so  fairly  and  made  such 
solemn  oaths  of  good  treatment,  that  at  length  Cesar  yielded, 
taking  the  precaution,  however,  to  have  the  agreement  ratified 
by  the  Governor's  hand  in  writing.     All  this  was  agreed  to. 

Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  Cesar  and  his  chief  man-at-arms 
reached  the  slave  quarters,  they  were  treacherously  surprised, 
bound  to  stakes,  and  whipped  in  the  most  inhuman  manner, 
so  as  even  to  rend  the  very  flesh  from  the  bones.     Then,  to 


426       OROONOKO:   OR,   THE   ROYAL   SLAVE 

complete  their  cruelty,  his  many  wounds  were  rubbed  with 
Indian  pepper,  which  had  like  to  have  made  him  raving  mad. 

But  worse  to  him  even  than  the  pain  was  the  disgrace  he  felt 
that  he,  a  prince,  should  thus  have  been  whipped.  Thence- 
forth, his  one  thought  was  to  be  revenged  on  the  Governor  who 
had  perfidiously  inflicted  such  infamy  on  him.  Hearing  of  these 
threats,  the  Council  condemned  Cesar  to  be  hanged.  But  Ce- 
sar's friend  Trefry,  on  whose  plantation  Cesar  was,  denied  the 
Council's  jurisdiction.  Cesar's  days  meanwhile  passed  in  black 
designs  and  melancholy  thoughts.  He  must,  he  felt,  have  re- 
venge on  the  Governor  for  his  unspeakable  indignities  and 
treacherous  cruelties.  But  his  great  heart  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  leaving  his  lovely  Imoinda  as  a  prey  to  the  en- 
raged multitude,  exposed  to  their  vile  lusts  and  probably  to  a 
shameful  death.  So  one  sad  day  he  took  Imoinda  into  a  wood, 
to  which  in  happier  days  they  used  to  go,  and  there  he  opened 
to  her  his  tragic  plan;  first  to  kill  her,  then  to  kill  his  enemies, 
and  next  himself.  He  found  the  heroic  wife  readier  to  plead 
for  death  as  the  only  way  of  escape  than  he  to  propose  it,  and 
she  besought  him  not  to  leave  her  a  prey  to  his  enemies. 

Embracing  her  with  all  the  passion  of  a  dying  lover,  he 
drew  his  knife  to  kill  this  treasure  of  his  soul.  Tears  trickled 
down  his  cheeks;  but  she  smiled  with  joy  that  she  should  die  by 
so  noble  a  hand. 

When  the  eternal  leave-taking  of  the  lovers  was  ended,  the 
lovely  victim  laid  herself  down  before  the  sacrificer,  while  he, 
with  a  hand  resolved  and  a  heart  breaking  within,  gave  the  fatal 
stroke.  As  soon  as  he  had  done  the  deed,  he  laid  the  body 
decently  on  leaves  and  flowers  of  which  he  made  a  bed,  con- 
cealing it  under  a  similar  coverlid  of  Nature's  handiwork. 

But  when  he  found  she  was  dead,  past  retrieval,  his  grief 
became  a  raging  madness. 

A  thousand  times  he  turned  the  fatal  knife  toward  his  own 
heart,  with  a  resolution  to  follow  her  at  once  in  death.  But  the 
desire  of  revenge  on  his  foes,  now  a  thousand  times  more  in- 
tense, prevented  him.  Then,  when  he  thought  how,  with  his 
own  hand,  he  had  sacrificed  the  fairest  and  dearest  creature 
that  ever  Nature  made,  grief  got  the  ascendancy.  He  lay  down 
by  her  side  and  watered  her  face  with  showers  of  tears.     How- 


APHRA   BEHN  427 

ever  bent  he  was  on  his  intended  slaughter  of  his  enemies,  he 
had  not  power  to  stir  from  the  sight  of  his  dear  love,  now  more 
adored  than  ever.  In  this  terrible  state,  vacillating  between 
fits  of  intense  remorse,  revenge,  and  despondence,  he  remained 
for  two  days;  his  eyes  and  brain  dizzy,  and  all  his  limbs  over- 
come with  a  faintness  never  felt  before.  Then  a  party  of  white 
pursuers  found  him  and  learned  the  dreadful  deed  he  had  com- 
mitted. While  they  were  hesitating  which  should  venture  to 
attack  him,  Cesar  ripped  up  his  own  bowels,  lest  he  be  taken 
alive  and  again  fall  a  victim  to  the  shameful  whip.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  soon  surrounded,  and  in  his  weak  and  mangled 
condition  was  caught  and  carried  to  his  master's  plantation, 
where  a  surgeon  dressed  his  wounds  and  he  was  given  food  and 
cordials,  and  recovered  sufficiently  to  explain  the  motives  that 
led  him  to  sacrifice  his  wife.  But  while  his  friends  among  the 
whites  were  away,  the  Governor  and  one  of  his  council  (re- 
solved to  compass  the  death  of  the  rebellious  slave-leader) 
seized  him,  tied  him  to  the  whipping-post,  had  a  great  fire  made 
before  him,  and  told  Cesar  he  should  die  like  a  dog. 

Cesar  in  reply  assured  his  executioner  that  if  "he  would 
keep  that  word,  he  was  the  only  man  of  all  the  whites  that  ever 
he  heard  speak  truth."  To  those  who  threatened  him  with 
immediate  execution,  Oroonoko  replied,  smiling,  "A  blessing 
on  thee!"  and  assured  them  that  they  need  not  tie  him,  for  he 
would  stand  fixed  like  a  rock  and  endure  death,  so  as  to  en- 
courage them  to  die. 

Then  the  executioners,  with  revolting  atrocity,  cut  ofi"  the 
living  flesh  and  members,  piece  by  piece,  and  tossed  them  into 
the  fire,  till,  without  a  groan,  Oroonoko  gave  up  the  ghost.  Not 
even  then  were  the  savage  slave-owners  content,  but  barbar- 
ously cut  the  dead  body  into  quarters  and  sent  it  round  to  the 
various  plantations  in  the  neighborhood. 

"Thus  died  this  great  man,  worthy  of  a  better  fate,"  a  man 
whose  glorious  name  should  "  survive  to  all  ages  with  that  of  the 
brave,  the  beautiful,  and  the  constant  Imoinda." 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


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